We had Alien on the big screen. Clive watches it all the way through at least once a week. Then there are the daily screenings we let run each afternoon. He's writing an alternative version in which everyone listens to Ripley from the start.
Just then the film had reached the point when Ripley is trying to reason with her captain, Dallas, saying "wait a minute, if we let it in the ship could be infected".
We both looked up - I was reading a 90s novelisation of The Addams Family, while live-tweeting my reactions to it; Clive was watching The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner at double speed - a few seconds of peace passed between us.
"Listen to me", she was saying, "if we break quarantine then we could all die". We went back to our distractions.
We shared a part-time job turning down invitations. People out-sourced the writing of awkward messages - we were more than happy to write them for 25p a pop. Just then Clive was on shift and I could hear him tapping out message after message of rejection. All excuses and promises. Like me Clive probably wondered what we were missing out on, let alone our customers.
The only actual contact either of us had had with anyone in about a month, besides deliveries, was when a supposedly beautiful woman - probably a flying bot - knocked on the door, asking us to let her in so she could escape some "horrible bastards". Clive and I put the lesson of Ripley's caution to good use. We put headphones on to drown out the noise from outside.
It was time for that quarter's national Politics results, so we turned the radio right up. Clive stowed his side screen. I put my tablet away. Even Ripley was muted.
"I can hardly breathe" - Clive was crouched down as he said this, looking like a man dealing with particularly egregious constipation.
"This is unreal" I said. "Don't even know how to think any more. I used to be so optimistic, but...".
Just then it started There was the usual preamble - anachronistic language, unnecessary formality, but finally:"The ayes have it!".
I roared out in a way that startled us both and we started leaping about making a racket. It was the release of all releases. Once the initial shock and joy had passed I found that I couldn't stop pacing round the room. Meanwhile Clive was in floods of tears.
There was commotion outside. For the first time in months we opened the back door. Songs were drifting up from the street. Some incongruous whining could be heard from the balconies opposite us, but they were soon shouted down.
Clive and I joined in with the chorus of singing. We bounced up and down in time, great big grins on our faces, shouting "you're not singing, you're not singing, you're not singing anymore".
Just then the film had reached the point when Ripley is trying to reason with her captain, Dallas, saying "wait a minute, if we let it in the ship could be infected".
We both looked up - I was reading a 90s novelisation of The Addams Family, while live-tweeting my reactions to it; Clive was watching The Loneliness of the Long Distance Runner at double speed - a few seconds of peace passed between us.
"Listen to me", she was saying, "if we break quarantine then we could all die". We went back to our distractions.
We shared a part-time job turning down invitations. People out-sourced the writing of awkward messages - we were more than happy to write them for 25p a pop. Just then Clive was on shift and I could hear him tapping out message after message of rejection. All excuses and promises. Like me Clive probably wondered what we were missing out on, let alone our customers.
The only actual contact either of us had had with anyone in about a month, besides deliveries, was when a supposedly beautiful woman - probably a flying bot - knocked on the door, asking us to let her in so she could escape some "horrible bastards". Clive and I put the lesson of Ripley's caution to good use. We put headphones on to drown out the noise from outside.
It was time for that quarter's national Politics results, so we turned the radio right up. Clive stowed his side screen. I put my tablet away. Even Ripley was muted.
"I can hardly breathe" - Clive was crouched down as he said this, looking like a man dealing with particularly egregious constipation.
"This is unreal" I said. "Don't even know how to think any more. I used to be so optimistic, but...".
Just then it started There was the usual preamble - anachronistic language, unnecessary formality, but finally:"The ayes have it!".
I roared out in a way that startled us both and we started leaping about making a racket. It was the release of all releases. Once the initial shock and joy had passed I found that I couldn't stop pacing round the room. Meanwhile Clive was in floods of tears.
There was commotion outside. For the first time in months we opened the back door. Songs were drifting up from the street. Some incongruous whining could be heard from the balconies opposite us, but they were soon shouted down.
Clive and I joined in with the chorus of singing. We bounced up and down in time, great big grins on our faces, shouting "you're not singing, you're not singing, you're not singing anymore".
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