Film Freak's Fury

I share my room with Film Freak, so I'm bound to be bias on his description. It's a fact I wont sugar coat for my readers, just be aware...

He lives for film, it's his job, his passion and his dream basis, literally. I mean the guy wakes up talking about the latest project, and drifts into sleep mumbling about it, still talking when his consciousness has left him.

I love his passion, it's infectious. I have become a walking movie reference by default, like the Film for Dummies companion to his encyclopedic knowledge.

He is different to me. In this house I ride the wave of turmoil the house mates present, like a keen surfer. We are up, I'm fine, we're down, well I'll just duck my head. Film Freak doesn't work this way. He bubbles inside, foaming until someone twists his fizzy cap and the whole thing froths and sprays over the hapless trigger. It isn't often, but it is impressive when it happens. And secretly I admire his honesty, knowing all that comes of it is grief.

This weekend gone created such a trigger. He woke early, keen as mustard for the shoot he had arranged in the house. Plenty to do, props and checks and set ups. He wanders bleary eyed into the lounge, and lets the cap fly.

Bottles, ashtrays,half empty bags of crisps, papers, and strangely four or more Mexican sombreros. All churned and turned and spilled about. The place is post party, and sure it's a Saturday, but it's THE Saturday for filming.

It kicks off quickly, it's no one's fault and no one takes the guilt ridden bait, so Film Freak is cleaning quickly, throwing bottles together into the recycling bag like the sound can purge the action. I skirt around the anger, skipping side o side, collecting quietly, ignoring the flurry of text messages. One needs to grow up, another needs to lick his own nether regions, another uses every profanity to explain away his responsibility.

But then, just like a fizzing drink spent, he rests. Flat.

And by Sunday night, when the culprits slink by, he has cooled, and it's all over with male nods in each others direction. Singular words. A cold peace dissolving the tension, the television providing the ultimate distraction. No one cops to the blame, but Film Freak is satisfied by the hanging heads, the slight indication of shame.

And next week? It will be different, and yet the same...