6:30 a.m. Five hours since I got into bed, and about four and a half since I relaxed enough to think about sleep. Remind me why I’m doing this again? Not Movie-Con, which on its first night has already gone a long way to justifying the price of entry. No, what I’m wondering to myself is why I didn’t park up in a Travelodge on the south bank somewhere, rather than engaging in the world’s most pointless commute. Part of it is that nice guy attitude I continue to try to promote, that there are various jobs to do at home and I’m not just skiving off to watch movies, I am also pulling my weight at home (even though I wasn’t asked to), but I think there’s also a part that adds a sense of adventure.
Even that gets dulled slightly when I drive in the correct route down the M11 and onto the A12, realising that there’s another underground station nearer the junction, which is in all likelihood nearer my destination. So at least I get a slightly shorter journey in the following morning. Thankfully, all aspects of the journey are smooth, apart from me noticing the 50 mph speed cameras on the turn off of the North Circular (brake!), and I arrive at the BFI a little after 9. My initial concerns that they have once again started without me are eased when I see the array of geeks (for apparently, that is the collective noun), numbering over a dozen, in their Forumite badges thronged around the side entrance.