Circa August 2002. British Film Festival.

Was having my daily dose of Neil Gaiman, when this came up.

And I remembered. The Cat with Hands. British Film Festival. Circa August 2002. Saturday Night. The night that I went to meet H. Also the same night that a misfired SMS made its way into the Urban Legends of Bad Dates. Other than that, I quite enjoyed TCWH, which was featured as a short bonus film before the actual screening; my kind of macabre story-telling. Though, I would have enjoyed it more if I hadn't been sandwiched between Mr Not So Secret Admirer and Madam In Need of a Listerine Mouthwash.

While waiting for the download, the shrill trill of my Nokia announced an incoming SMS:

"U hv any sex in e city on disc?"
[scroll down]
"Sender: H..."

What the fuck... AGAIN??? Please, someone, tell me this is really, REALLY, just ANOTHER coincidence, albeit one too many - of either our first SMS arriving within one to two seconds of each other, or messages received when I just happen to be thinking about Mr No More Admiring in Secret. It couldn't have been more than ten minutes between Gaiman's site and the download. (By the way, we haven't had much contact after that fateful night. So, such uncanny timing is really weird.)

I am officially spooked. AGAIN!!!

Strangely, I've never known such "telepathic" connections with my close friends, not even with the Bear. Anyway, it just seems so pointless to have it with someone who can never be more than my Intellectual Whore.