London: full of everywhere else

Yesterday - St George's Day; a typically drizzly London day, which I thought was marvellously apt - Beloved and I found ourselves, quite by accident, enjoying a typically London afternoon. We saw a movie that, while not actually English, was set in England and about Englishers - oops, one Scot and a bunch of Englishers. It was lovely. It had Johnny Depp*. The cinema was full of Forruners.

We had a meal in a Forrun restaurant, that had managed to adapt itself to English tastes by serving lamb with chips instead of saffron rice, and adding omelettes, fried fish etc to the menu, beside the more exotic dishes.

We took a turn around the National Portrait Gallery to look at pictures of a Mexican**.

We had planned to go see an actual English film (full of sex; Agnes Catherine Poirier must consider her point made), but after the fluffy dogs and fairies of Finding Neverland, 9 Songs just seemed far too raw for comfort. So we went home. (And watched the director's cut of Donnie Darko, which isn't any easier to figure out.)
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* Yes, it went off circuit ages ago, but luckily we have the Prince Charles Cinema to catch us up on the good things we miss.
** Frida Kahlo strikes me as amazingly in control of her image. Most of the photos looked exactly like her own self-portraits. She didn't change her facial expression in a single one; only in the later pictures did she relax a little and allow the photographers to pose her at all differently to that classic, straight on bust. Intriguing.