Oh yes, I remember it well.

As well as London Skeptics in the Pub (which resides in Camden) I also attend 'meetings' at the Greenwich branch. It's a fortuitous location for many reasons. I can, and normally do, stop at Goddards for veggie pie'n'mash - which is uniformly delicious. The Thameside walk is glorious with views across to the Isle of Dogs and Canary Wharf, down to the dome and the cable cars, and back to the Shard. Lastly the pub that hosts the Skeptics, The Star & Garter, is a pleasure. A proper old boozer where the landlady gives you a warm welcome and you can get a pint of Young's Bitter (3.7%) for £3.20.

Lots of things I like. But how do I know I like them? Because I remember enjoying them before. Memory plays a huge part in shaping our opinions, decisions, and future actions. But what if some of our memories had, somehow, been falsely implanted in our minds? Could that happen? Would that affect our behaviour or would we still make the same decisions either way?

Dr Kim Wade is an Associate Professor in Psychology at the University of Warwick. She is a cognitive psychologist specialising in autobiographical memory and memory distortions and she is especially interested in the mechanisms that drive the development of false memories and in refining the theories that explain false memory phenomena. 

She'd kindly come along to the Greenwich Skeptics to talk a little bit about that work and I, for one, am glad she did. It was a fascinating talk and, like any successful event of this nature, I found that each answer left me with even more questions. Not that there were many answers as such. As a field it's relatively new. It's only since the mid-nineties that people have accepted it as a fact. 

Kim began by telling the story of NBC anchor Brian Williams who claimed his helicopter was downed by a rocket propelled grenade over Iraq in 2003. When it became apparent this had not happened Williams claimed he'd falsely remembered it. It seems ludicrous that you'd not remember an event of that magnitude but Kim was generous in accepting that there was a chance he was misremembering, rather than straight out lying. 

This potentially opens up a moralistic minefield for courts in future years but Kim was here more to focus on the science. She and her colleagues had carried out controlled experiments on volunteers where they'd shown them some photographs from their youths. Most were genuine photos of happy childhood outings, family shots etc; But into each they'd placed a photoshopped image of said volunteer as a small child enjoying a hot air balloon excursion.

At the first meeting most volunteers said they couldn't remember going up in the hot air balloon. They went away, slept on it, came in the next day and this time about 20% of them said they'd remembered it now. Another night, another meeting, and now half of them could remember their trip c/o the Montgolfier brothers. One volunteer even going so far as to describe the altimeter and how he'd upset his sister by spitting over the side of the basket. Three brief (about 20 minute meetings), one doctored photo, and, hey presto, a new memory! The power of suggestion indeed.

So why some people and not others? They're not sure yet, as I said the field is in its nascent stages, but it doesn't appear to be because some of us are more mendacious than others. In fact agreeableness and empathy seemed to be a greater factor. Even more important was the tester's personality. If the person suggesting false memories to you is likable, outgoing, and you warm to them you're more susceptible to the suggestions.

There are ethical and financial difficulties with conducting these studies but so far Kim and her colleagues have found the ratios and results have been fairly consistent. Face to face interaction works much better for planting false memories though online interaction has had results too.

It's not just associate professors in psychology and stage hypnotists who use these techniques. We all may do, unknowingly. Couples, people who've worked together for a long time, and particularly twins, it's claimed, often remember things that didn't happen to them - but actually happened to their partner, colleague, or sibling.

A contributor in the audience told the story of his grandfather who claimed to remember Winston Churchill's speech being broadcast on the radio during the war even though this wasn't aired and was, actually, repeated by a radio announcer that evening. Another example, put forward by the host Chris French, was Bob Geldof's request to 'give us your fucking money' during Live Aid in 1985. The Boomtown Rat never said it. He swore at one point and he asked for money at another but somewhere in the midst of time we've conflated these two things and remembered them incorrectly. I put my hand up to this one. They're small examples, although they refer to big events, but with concerted effort to implant a memory imagine what could be done.

One group of people who aren't particularly susceptible to it are those with HSAM or hyperthymesia. These are people whose autobiographical memories are so strong that you could choose a random day of their life and they'd be able to tell you what they had for breakfast, what the weather was like, and similar mundane information.

It seems the way most of our brains work is to dispose of most of the memories we won't be needing or wanting and hang on to the ones that serve some purpose. Even memories of awful events are useful to us. If we've burnt ourselves as children, crashed our cars on certain corners, or had our hearts broken then memories of these events will protect us in the future. Or so it's hoped. The brains of those with hyperthymesia don't function like that. It's neither a blessing nor a curse for them but it makes them an interesting case study - and an interesting evening out in Greenwich it was too. At least that's how I think I remember it.

Brexit, pursued by a bear

Monday night saw another visit to Skeptics in the Pub. The talk was titled 'Brexit - Evidence, Propaganda and Cognitive Bias' and it seemed to tap into quite a few of my thoughts on the upcoming EU referendum. How it's not so binary (though the vote obviously is). Why wanting to leave the EU doesn't necessarily make you Europhobic and how wishing to stay in doesn't mean you don't think they could do things better in Brussels. Scare stories have dominated the debate and, of late, it's become more about Tory infighting than a decision that could affect generations of people. The talk promised to address such concerns.

Unlike the speaker I've not made any claims of impartiality so nailing my colours immediately to the mast I'm in favour of staying in. My gut feeling is it will be better for the country and better for Europe though as my job is once again under threat of being outsourced, this time to Berlin, I've no idea whatsoever how it would affect me personally. The fact that a motley crew of some of the most unpleasant people in British politics at the moment Nigel Farage, George Galloway, IDS, and Bojo the nasty pretend clown have joined forces for the 'out' campaign has, of course, only swung me further towards saluting the Flag of Europe.

Would the talk make me change my mind? Would I find a seat was the most urgent concern as the place was rammed. Was it the clement spring weather? Or a particular interest in the subject? Probably a bit of both.

Clutching my pro-European pint of Amstel I stood in the corner and listened intently. I didn't expect to be almost swayed over to the 'out' camp. Some friends who hear me talk about Skeptics in the Pub but rarely, or never, attend imagine a preachy, holier-than-thou atmosphere. Normally it's far from that but unfortunately tonight's speaker was a bit that way. It was a disappointment to me. Not just because she made some rather boring observations about the 'dead tree' press and seemed to think the audience would be enlightened in some way to learn that that same UK press isn't entirely impartial.

Dr Lynette Nusbacher is a professional strategist. She's got a pretty impressive CV. She was Senior Lecturer at War Studies at Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, first head of the Strategic Horizons Unit in the Cabinet Office, Senior Intelligence Advisor to the Joint Intelligence Committee, and has conducted futures work to underpin the UK National Security Strategy.

Despite all this, and some admittedly impressive comic timing in places, the delivery came across as occasionally patronising and, far more often, wildly inconsistent. Hypocritical you could say. She said she wouldn't take sides in the debate. She did (she's in the 'in' camp). She said she wouldn't use scare tactics. She did. She said she wouldn't appeal to people's biases or baser instincts. She did. When she quoted that hoary old chestnut about "lies, damned lies, and statistics" and then followed it with a list of statistics I sighed and considered leaving at half-time.

But I didn't. Partly because I knew I was going to write this blog about it - and I'm a very conscientious blogger I can tell you. Partly because I wanted to hear what questions people had for her. I'd say partly because I wanted another drink but it's not like Camden's short of options there!

I'm really glad I stayed though as Dr Nusbacher managed to turn it around a bit, quite a lot in fact, during the second half Q&A session. More in terms of delivery as she did come out as a Tory who was very certain that Nicky Morgan's current policy of trying to convert all schools into academies was a good thing. For which she was roundly jeered. She also made some cheap jokes about those perennial targets the Germans and Americans. They went down well, of course, but they're such cheap easy laughs I always feel a bit disappointed when speakers resort to them. Far more concerning to me was the suggestion that the migrant crisis had gone quiet of late (has it!?) because the Med was 'a bit cold' at the moment. They're not having a dip on a lilo off the coast of Crete, doc!

Where she was very good was in her response to the guy who asked her about some of the things I'd commented on earlier. Particularly when she explained that everyone was biased and it was impossible to expect even people employed for their relative impartiality to have no bias whatsoever.

Some other very good points were made. On Cameron's promise that if 'out' win Britain will be out of Europe in 2 years, she said this was highly unlikely. When Canada ceased a special trade agreement with Europe that took five and they, obviously, had a lot less to undo. Regarding EU directives it will take a very long time, and a huge amount of people and money, to decide which ones we keep and which ones we jettison. If the UK leaves the EU there'll almost definitely be attempts to build even closer business ties with dominant nations like China and the US. The UK will have to accept being the junior partner in any such deal rather than a key player as it is, to an extent, within the EU.

How will broadly pro-European Scotland react? Almost certainly calls for another referendum on Scottish independence will grow louder and the chances of that result being different a second time more likely. Dr Nusbacher thought Northern Ireland may follow suit although that would obviously bring a whole new load of internal problems and, to my mind, doesn't seem likely in the near future.

So, potentially the end of the Union? Or is that scaremongering? I don't know. A vote either way should bring further Tory infighting so there's a silver lining to every cloud. It may seem daft to revel in people fighting each other when they ought to be running the country but the more time they spend being cruel to each other the less they've got to pick on the disabled, single mothers, people in low paid jobs, or foreigners.

How would other European nations react should the UK decide to quit? Dr Nusbacher thinks that Brussels is certain the UK will jump ship. She also thought that if that happened Sweden and/or Denmark may follow. She even suggested Germany too though it's hard to imagine why they'd want to leave or an EU even existing without their involvement.

When pressed on how she thought the result would pan out. With the caveat that another large terrorist attack could throw things wide open she said she thought the 'in' vote would take the day with roughly a 55% vote - (for good measure she also said Hillary Clinton would beat Donald Trump to the US presidency). I'm broadly with her on that prediction and I'm broadly with her on the pros of staying in. So even though I can't imagine befriending a Tory with 'interesting' views on immigration we can find common ground on that at least.

I suppose what I learn from all this is that even when you're in with the 'in' crowd you're going to be amongst some people you don't see eye to eye with. Sure it's the same for the outies too. There's gonna be some uneasy bedfellows during the coming months. Guess we just need to try and get along whatever. Business as normal. Whatever normal is.

When is a Bruegel not a Bruegel?

It's been a while since I was led upstairs to look at someone's etchings and when it happens it's the 16th century Netherlandish artist Pieter Bruegel the Elder.

London's Courtauld Gallery have put together an 'intimate' show of both Bruegel's works and those that had previously been erroneously ascribed to him. Both followers and those he inspired. Even deliberate forgeries.

That's the claim anyway. Actually there's only 4 real Bruegel works. 1559's Kermis at Hoboken (below) and A Storm On The River Schelde With A View Of Antwerp from 1562. Both pen and ink. The following year's etching The Rabbit Hunt and, finally, the only oil painting in the entire show Landscape With The Flight Into Egypt, also from 1563. Of which more later. The Kermis is a festival that takes place near Antwerp. Drinking, dancing, archery, and even urination feature. Also pigs - who seem to be a staple of lowlands painting from this era.

Amongst the other artists here Jacob Savery was the straight out forger, half-inching Bruegel's stipple technique. He even signed his paintings with Bruegel's name and backdated them to add further 'authenticity'. His windmills, castles, and Northern European landscapes are so gauzy that now I have to either admire, or be suspicious of, the experts that re-ascribed them.

Jacob's younger brother, Roelandt Savery, drew from life in the markets of Prague. Emulating Bruegel's technique he was rumoured to be in the employ of the Holy Roman Emperor Rudolf II and though his burghers, peasants, and harnessed mules are impressive enough there was a bit of a 'pen and ink' when his pen and inks were noted to be dressed in the fashions of 17th century Prague. Neither geographically nor chronologically appropriate for a Bruegel. Further re-ascribing took place.

Amusingly a publisher of Bruegel's was named Hieronymus Cock but if you prefer a cooler nom de plume what about the Master of The Mountain Landscapes? Another of Bruegel's copyists who has four pleasant enough, though hardly earth shattering, works here. They're mountain landscapes. You probably guessed.

The Landscape with the Flight Into Egypt is easily the best thing here. Bruegel has transposed the biblical narrative to an Alpine setting. Allusions to Christ and sublime reference to the scale and potentially destructive power of nature humble his tiny figures. It lights up a room that's otherwise probably of more interest academically than anything else.

I was no expert on Dutch painting before and I've certainly not become one by spending a small part of my afternoon in the company of their works. Also, it's not that important to me who painted what. This was more a history lesson to me than an art one. An interesting one and not one I regret. But neither one I'd recommend to anyone unless they had a niche interest in Dutch painting from 400 years ago.

The rockin' maniac.

35 Glendale Road is an address. The Bop Shack a state of mind. Patrick George Michael Still is a name. Pat The Rockin' Maniac is an identity.

The Swamplord, Stilton, the Hat, call him what you like, towered over my adolescent years like no one else. What thoughts lay behind these pale Irish eyes?

Dark ones, occasionally.  But for the most part not. Mainly love and kindness. They emanated from Pat so strongly it hurt. He sometimes gave so much of himself he was left feeling bereft.

It was a tragedy I watched happen, and one I didn't change, that this man who put so much joy in the hearts of others couldn't always put a smile on his own face.

I prefer not to dwell on Pat's darkness. I prefer to remember the good times. There were a lot of them.

Flour fights at Franklin Avenue, Zodiac zipping, dancing harder than anyone else in the room, the love of Chuck Berry and Eddie Cochran. Our paths diverged musically but the passion Pat applied to the music never left me.

To see him bopping around in a music note jumper to Restless was to see a man happy. To know I'll never see it again makes me sad.

On Thursday a light went out over Tadley.

An Agenda?

40 yr old Asad Shad, a much respected and loved Muslim newsagent in Glasgow, is brutally murdered mere hours after posting a happy Easter message on social media.

Less than a week earlier, also on social media, a man posts a comment about approaching a Muslim woman in Croydon and complaining that she had a 'mealy mouthed' response to the Brussels murders.

Both terrible things but the former easily the worst. Assuming you think death is worse than being maligned on the Internet.

So you'd think my left leaning friends would have something to say about both but, perhaps, fixate more on the killing of an innocent man.

Nah, seems not. Is it because Asad Shah was killed by another, clearly more fundamental, Muslim? Or at least someone who identified as such.

I can't help suspecting it was. The other story had little verification whatsoever yet produced spoof memes, outraged diatribes, and a general shit storm.

I think it doesn't fit the agenda of regressive left thinking where that nebulous death star the West is responsible for all evil.

Even though this all happened during the week that the court in The Hague finally locked up Radovan Karadzic for the genocide in Srebenica in which 8,000 Muslim men and boys were slaughtered.

Yes, other Europeans were guilty of those crimes. Others still guilty of inaction and allowing evil to prosper.

But that's my point. The West, in reality rather than notion, contains a huge range of opinion from racist thuggery to Islamist terrorist sympathisers with the vast, overwhelming majority residing in the centre and far from either extreme.

As pointless to lump it all in together as it is to say what Islam is. Islam is not a religion of terror. Neither is it a religion of peace. It is an ideology and like all ideologies it is open to interpretation.

The vast, overwhelming, majority of Muslims take a practical and peaceful approach to things. A tiny minority of those who identify as Muslims don't. All beliefs and all ideologies are susceptible to this.

However, at the moment, it would be ostrich like to pretend that Islamic fundamentalism was not a clear and present danger.

I have no idea what can be done about it but I can see the division both the terrorism, and the reaction to it, is wreaking.

If someone with a Belgian grandparent wishes to express their sympathy with that country that doesn't mean they don't also care about Turks, Syrians, and Yemenis also.

To attack them for it is nasty and counterproductive. Everyone is free to express sympathy to anyone else in whatever fashion they feel comfortable with.

I don't argue for one moment that traditional media, tv/printed press, places too high an emphasis on events in Paris, New York, or London and I think the world would be better served if that changed.

But if you think the way of doing that is accusing genuinely caring people of being racist or Islamaphobic you're being silly.

Those things exist and those things are horrible and should be confronted when encountered. In the meantime if you think your friends are showing too much compassion towards Paris and not enough towards Ankara you know what to do.

Change your profile pic to a Turkish flag. Use the power of the Internet not to attack but to find commonality. You may not like the media but with Twitter, blogs etc; you're now more a part of it than ever before.

The line "no-one talks about Turkey" looks a bit silly when, in fact, everyone is talking about Turkey. It looks plain self serving on the night a bomb kills dozens in an Iraqi football stadium and no-one, neither the Pray for Brussels crowd nor the whatabouters, say very much at all.

To try and negate someone's genuine concern for events in Europe by highlighting equally bad, often worse, events elsewhere is like proving your love for your partner by telling your friends their partners are grotesque. It's mean.

Please try to use this new(ish) media for good and not for petty squabbling. If you think this is all a load of sanctimonious shit that's fine. It may well be but it was what I wanted to say. Or to sum it up in four words "look after each other".

TADS #2:The Thames Towpath and the Chiltern Way (or Springtime in the Chilterns).

The night before the 2nd TADS walk of 2016 I got the news that Tadley legend, rockin' maniac, and all round crazy guy Pat Still had passed away. He was 54. Although I'd not seen him for some time he'd been a big influence on my life and many others. Including some of my fellow TADS. It became apparent that our stroll from Henley-on-Thames to Marlow would be punctuated, yes punctuated, with anecdotes and remembrances of Pat.

In fact the last time I can recall being in Henley was in the summer of 1996. It was just after Euro 96 and our friend Stuart was wearing a suit in sweltering heat and trying to do impressions of Gazza (with the ball, not the booze). By the turn of the millennium Stuart would have succumbed to his demons and taken his own life.

So this beautiful walk in fine company was sure to be tinged with a certain sadness. On Thursday night it was pouring down with rain and when I spoke to Adam on the phone and he told me the forecast was good and we'd probably be sat in a pub garden during our Good Friday gadabout I told him I thought that was highly unlikely.

But he was right. The sun came out and lifted the sadness in our hearts. Instead of mourning our walk was filled with laughter, joyful memories, and anecdotes of the NSFW nature.

Once we got there that was. Being a Bank Holiday weekend there was, of course, scheduled maintenance work causing severe disruption on the lines. I met Pam on the train in Paddington. Due to my confusion we had a little wait in the Slough sunshine where we at least got reacquainted with Station Jim. Then an even longer one in Twyford. There we retreated to The Golden Cross for a weak (3.6%) pint of Upham's Tipster. There was a copy of Tractor & Machinery magazine laying dormant on the bar letting us know we weren't in London anymore. Soon we weren't in the pub anymore either. But its garden. I was very happy to have been proved wrong and it wouldn't be the last, or best, beer garden of the day.

Finally meeting up with Teresa, Adam, and Shep we headed straight down to the Thames. Henley looked glorious in the sunshine and it would have been tempting to get a picnic and sit in the riverside park all day soaking up the spring rays.

But the TADS are made of sterner stuff so we set off along the side of the river. Crossing over to the East bank we wandered out of Henley past rowing clubs, Egyptian geese, and below red kites. The book we've been using for our walks was printed over five years ago and mentioned we may be lucky enough to see a red kite or two on our walk. We saw tens, if not hundreds, of the beauties. Showing off their spectacular wing spans as they graciously swooped ever lower.

There were some beautiful houses our side of the river and across we could see over to Fawley designed by Christopher Wren in 1684 with gardens by Capability Brown. Half a kilometre further up was Temple Island, Fawley Court's fishing lodge, a James Wyatt design. It led to a heated discussion of what constitutes a folly.

Things were cooled down with a 99 from a Mr Whippy ice cream van. The first alfresco gelato of the season and as sure a mark of the onset of spring as a bluebell blossom. Looking back across the river again to the village of Greenlands we could see a white Neoclassical mansion built by the newsagent W H Smith. It disappointed me that ol' Smudger hadn't used his shop's corporate colour scheme for his own accommodation but it also occurred to me that I'd never really thought of W H Smith as an actual person before.

We soon reached Hambleden Lock. There's a waterfall, a weir, and a pedestrian only bridge. So many of my favourite things. Almost too much going on.

We pondered briefly before crossing back over Old Father Thames and setting off through the tiny settlement of Mill End, through the fields, and into the village of Hambleden. Wow! What an impossibly quaint place. Village green, churchyard, brick cottages, cobbled streets. It's almost like a Disney recreation of Ye Olde England. You half expect to see an old maid cycling to communion. The only thing that ruined it were the anachronistic modern cars parked up. Though honourable exception is made for the Riley photogenically positioned outside the post office.

In The Stag & Huntsman pub we met Darren, Cheryl, and Tommy. Tommy's beaming smile lighting up the pub garden nearly as much as the now quite impressively hot sunshine. Pam was on the factor 50. The rest of us stuck mostly to Doom Bars. It was such a gorgeous spot and the company was so good that a 'two pint mistake' became inevitable. The old saying "life's too short" seeming more pertinent than ever.

After the pub we had a nose around the churchyard of the Norman Church of St Mary the Virgin. I was trying to find W H Smith's grave. I couldn't see any with a special offer on Mini Eggs and some overpriced Volvic so we asked a church official and he said the newsagent was buried in another nearby churchyard. There was a stained glass window and plaque commemorating him though.

There were also other impressive plots and an alabaster and marble memorial to Cope and Martha D'Oyley (died in 1633 and 1618 respectively) and their five sons and daughters. Two of the sons wear Royalist garb; the rest Puritan outfits. The children who predeceased their father hold skulls. Death, once again, loomed over the walk.

Leaving Hambleden we had our first real climb of the day as we picked up the Chiltern Way. There was such a variety of terrains in this walk it was never in danger of getting boring. We passed a manor house where Charles I stayed in 1646 during his flight from Oxford to St Albans just prior to his imprisonment.

We passed through the hamlet of Rotten Row. We saw a skylark flapping its wings as if it had forgotten it could fly and wondered what it was doing up in the sky. The red kites hovered again. In the pond there was a duckhouse and we noted, how after the expenses scandal, these can never be viewed the same way again.

We'd seen a few deer earlier on in the walk but around Davenport Wood we caught sight of about 30-40 of them running up and down the field, gamboling and frolicking. I guess it's what counts as foreplay in the deer community. It was certainly a spectacle to behold.

Descending into Marlow our walk was coming to its end but there was one last treat in store. A white villa with pointy Gothick windows where Mary Shelley wrote Frankenstein between 1817 and 1818. She'd lived there with her husband Percy. It's highly satisfying that such a remarkable tale could be forged in such suburban ordinariness.

Marlow is a pleasant commuter town that I'd visited before but we didn't get to see much of it this time. First Clayton's, a pub with Kool and The Gang posters and Babycham adverts on the wall, where we enjoyed both the table service and the Brakspear's Oxford Gold. After that the Tiger Garden Indian restaurant where Shep made his usual complaint about them not serving Bangla and the rest of us tucked into a well earned, tasty, if not exceptional, curry.

A quick walk back to the station where I woke up the driver of the bus replacement service who, in turn, let me travel home for free. Coach to Maidenhead. Train to Paddington. On the train Pam & I both dozed off. Legs full of walking, stomachs full of curry and ale. Able to reflect on another successful TADS trek that didn't, despite all the hints given above, end with us having our eyes pecked out by red kites. Look forward to planning the next one. A two dayer has even been mentioned.

Fleapit revisited:High Rise

Abba's S.O.S. neither conjures up images of brutalist architecture and imploding dystopias nor serves as a vicious satire of the British class system. Yet it's used twice in Ben Wheatley's new adaption of J G Ballard's 'unfilmable' novel and both times it works a treat. It may well have even overtaken Mamma Mia in my list of favourite Abba songs.

It's one of many, seemingly, disparate components that feel like they shouldn't gel well together but do. Whilst each ingredient looks tempting in its own right it's hard to imagine the sum of their parts adding up to anything other than a dog's breakfast. It's to director Wheatley and writer Amy Jump's testament that that isn't the case.

The film is beautifully shot. If you've got a concrete fetish you'll not be left disappointed, the high rise itself is like Le Corbusier let loose on the Barbican. If you're into retro-futurism, oh boy, there's so much here for you. If you simply want to gawp at Sienna Miller you'll probably not be disappointed. Should you prefer Tom Hiddleston you'll find he's a fantastic specimen of a male. There's even something for Pop Will Eat Itself fans as Clint Mansell's score is utterly superb, working in both the aforementioned Abba covers and a lovely little treat I won't spoil towards the end.

That's all front of house stuff but the actual score Mansell's composed does the heavy lifting. It can sometimes be the mark of a good soundtrack if you hardly notice it and that applies here. Most importantly during the hinterlands of the film as idyllic and futuristic tower block living slowly, and then rapidly, descends into a confusing hellish maelstrom.

Hiddleston's Dr Laing is the closest we get to a moral compass throughout the film. Though we're never entirely sure of his motivations we can at least view the ongoing depravity through the prism of his seemingly aloof exterior. Luke Evans's Wilder is the fire to Laing's ice. Lemmy as working class hero who rails against those on the upper floors while, perhaps, not attending to his own inner crises. It's a bravura performance. Possibly the first among equals in a massively impressive ensemble cast.

Dan Skinner, who I relied on my cinema date (thanks, Toby) to inform me played Angelos Epithemiou in Shooting Stars, also deserves a mention for playing nasty piece of work Simmons. Tracksuited up, his role is, nominally, to act as a gopher for top floor dweller, building architect, and all round creepy fucker Anthony Royal. Played by Jeremy Irons who does seem to have a natural talent for these roles. Honourable mention too to Elisabeth Moss who plays Wilder's pregnant, and put upon, wife. It's something of a thankless role in a film where men, in the style of 1975 when it was set, tend to dominate.

The narrative of the film disintegrates as sure as the moral certainties of the characters. It's a tricky thing to portray but, back to that recipe again, it's done with no little aplomb. Odd dreamlike sequences rub up against quotidian scenes of cereal purchase. Facial hair and Minis very much of the 70s crash headlong into more post-modern mores and societal angst. The glass Sienna Miller's Charlotte nearly drops on Hiddleston's sunbathing Laing is not the last thing to fall from a great height. Either allegoric or actual.

There's some gore, there's some violence, there's some sex, there's some spot the reference stuff if that's your thing. You'd be hard pushed to miss the nods to Don't Look Now, The Shining, A Clockwork Orange, and even Columbo. So it's got all the makings of a blockbuster. Yet, judging by the surprisingly large number of people who walked out of the Curzon Soho during the screening, it resides more in arthouse territory. If you're in either camp you'll find plenty to admire in this film. If, like me, you keep a foot in each that's better still.

As the occasional outside shot reveals, this high rise is just one of many in development. There are eight million stories in the city. This was just one of them.