One inch

Succede che decidi di rivedere un film che avevi visto distrattamente. Succede anche che, ovviamente, dopo aver rivisto il film ti vien voglia di rileggere il fumetto che l'ha originato.
E cosi' ritrovi una lettera che, oltre ad essere una di quelle cose che ti prendon alla gola e scendon giu', e' anche la risposta piu' completa a chi ti chiede "Ma perche' 'pride'?".
Antefatto: il fumetto e' ambientato in una distopia dove l'Inghilterra, a seguito di una terza guerra mondiale, e' governata da un regime fascista, il quale (come tutte le dittature, reali o wannabe, dal secolo scorso ai giorni nostri), ha scatenato una violenta repressione contro i "nemici interni", capri espiatori cui dare la colpa di buona parte dei problemi e della decadenza della societa'. E per questo ruolo niente di meglio delle minoranze di diversi, siano essi migranti, neri, omosessuali e cosi' via.
Le minoranze sono rastrellate, umiliate e, nel caso del fumetto, usate come cavie di esperimenti in campi di concentramento.
Chi scrive, e' uno di questi prigionieri, una ragazza, lesbica, che scrive al suo vicino di cella. La ragazza e' Valerie, nella cella 4. Il destinatario e' V.

"I don't know who you are.
Please believe. There is no way I can convince you that this is not one of their tricks.
But I don't care. I am me, and I don't know who you are, but I love you.
I have a pencil. A little one they did not find. I am a women. I hid it inside me.
Perhaps I won't be able to write again, so this is a long letter about my life. It is the only autobiography I have ever written and oh God I'm writing it on toilet paper.
I was born in Nottingham in 1957, and it rained a lot. I passed my eleven plus and went to girl's Grammar.
I wanted to be an actress.
I met my first girlfriend at school. Her name was Sara. She was fourteen and I was fifteen but we were both in Miss. Watson's class.
Her wrists.
Her wrists were beautiful. I sat in biology class, staring at the picket rabbit foetus in its jar, listening while Mr. Hird said it was an adolescent phase that people outgrew.
Sara did. I didn't.
In 1976 I stopped pretending and took a girl called Christine home to meet my parents. A week later I enrolled at drama college. My mother said I broke her heart.
But it was my integrity that was important. Is that so selfish? It sells for so little, but it's all we have left in this place. It is the very last inch of us.
But within that inch we are free.
London. I was happy in London. In 1981 I played Dandini in Cinderella. My first rep work. The world was strange and rustling and busy, with invisible crowds behind the hot lights and all that breathless glamour. It was exciting and it was lonely. At nights I'd go to the Crew-Ins or one of the other clubs. But I was stand-offish and didn't mix easily. I saw a lot of the scene, but I never felt comfortable there. So many of them just wanted to be gay. It was their life, their ambition.
And I wanted more than that.
Work improved. I got small film roles, then bigger ones. In 1986 I starred in "The Salt Flats." It pulled in the awards but not the crowds. I met Ruth while working on that. We loved each other. We lived together and on Valentine's Day she sent me roses and oh God, we had so much. Those were the best three years of my life.
In 1988 there was the war, and after that there were no more roses. Not for anybody.
In 1992 they started rounding up the gays. They took Ruth while she was out looking for food. Why are they so frightened of us?
They burned her with cigarette ends and made her give them my name. She signed a statement saying I'd seduced her. I didn't blame her. God, I loved her. I didn't blame her.
But she did. She killed herself in her cell. She couldn't live with betraying me, with giving up that last inch. Oh Ruth....
They came for me. They told me that all of my films would be burned. They shaved off my hair and held my head down a toilet bowl and told jokes about lesbians. They brought me here and gave me drugs. I can't feel my tongue anymore. I can't speak.
The other gay women here, Rita, died two weeks ago. I imagine I'll die quite soon. It's strange that my life should end in such a terrible place, but for three years I had roses and I apologized to nobody.
I shall die here. Every last inch of me shall perish. Except one.
An inch. It's small and it's fragile and it's the only thing in the world worth having. We must never lose it, or sell it, or give it away. We must never let them take it from us.
I don't know who you are. Or whether you're a man or a woman. I may never see you or cry with you or get drunk with you. But I love you. I hope that you escape this place. I hope that the world turns and that things get better, and that one day people have roses again. I wish I could kiss you.

Valerie"

from "V for Vendetta", written by Alan Moore, art by David Lloyd.

Cosa si puo' fare in un taxi inglese?

Sesso. Almeno e' quello che facevano ieri sera verso le nove due coppie in un taxi in Charing Cross road, dietro cui ci siam fermati in moto io e Guy in attesa del verde. E non sto parlando di carezze, diciamo che il ragazzo e la ragazza eran seduti nello stesso posto.
Vorrei complimentarmi con l'autista per l'aplomb che dimostrava.

I comici sono in crisi

Per forza. Anche sforzandosi non possono tener il passo della realta'.
In Italia si leggono dichiarazioni del tipo "Mi fa schifo chi vende il proprio corpo!". Firmato: Mara Carfagna. Che non puo' non far ridere, subito prima di incazzarsi e di pensare di mandare una mail per spiegare alla scandalizzata Mara che chi vende il proprio corpo a volte si puo' permettere il lusso di farlo per scelta, come ha fatto lei (con i calendari eh, non sto pensando a pompini vari), ma piu' spesso ci e' costretto, da qualcuno o dalla necessita'.
In UK invece leggi notizie come questa: "Farmer unveils the 'illegal' mock-Tudor castle he tried to hide behind 40ft hay bales"; questo per aggirare i piani regolatori ha costruito un CASTELLO, non una casetta, e l'ha tenuto nascosto 4 anni dietro balle di fieno, perche' c'e' una legge che dice che se in 4 anni dalla costruzione nessuno obietta, non si puo'obbligarlo ad abbatterlo. Sfortunatamente ha perso la causa, ma entra di prepotenza nell'archivio dei miei nutter preferiti.

Fine vacanze

E fine viaggi... -_-
Di ritorno dal Galles alluvionato, condito da una serata di pub quiz, splendide strade, spiagge e paesini, e la lotta contro il livello dell'acqua.
Presto itinerario, compreso quello del precedente viaggio francobelgagermanicolandese, foto, ricchi premi e cotillons.

Adesso, purtroppo, lavoro...