I had just had a tooth extracted and the painkiller was wearing off. I could go straight home and mope around the house nursing my aching face or I could go to the Wednesday night of the film festival.
I chose the film festival. Again I arrived early, again I was given something to do. I am starting to see a pattern here. The Masonic Temple is a completely different venue from the Arts and Culture Centre. Polished wood, dark colours, the grandeur of a different era. The mirror downstairs next to the women’s bathroom looks like it came out of the Tsars palace.
Upstairs in the entranceway and in the bar the bright fish of conversation whipped around the room. I only heard the edges of most conversations but my chat with one producer soared into the stratasphere. In the midst of the happy hubbub, a couple of people were going off their heads. Apparently the sound system was not producing. This technical difficulty was causing a half an hour delay in the films. I could have told them that this always happens at the Masonic Temple but I didn’t. The ghosts of the old Masons do not like women, films nor festivals. They do admire tenacity and hard work so the technical difficulties typically disappear within half an hour of a Herculean effort on the part of techies..
It was a grand chance for cross fertilisation of ideas. Then the doors opened and I took ticket stubs from the happy crowd ( the bar may have had something to do with thegeneral jollility.) I slipped in afterwards and sat in a great seat.

After the first film which left me thoughtful I sat at the merchandise table gabbing and eating the super snackies. I must emphasize this. They were super snackies. More chats and swirls of conversation. Then we trooped back in to watch an amazing series of shorts.
The shorts left me cracked up and I walked home with visions dancing in my brain.