It was a cold, grey Wednesday afternoon on the Cowley Road and I was miserable.

I was also alone, avoiding deadlines and looking for something interesting to warm me up. G&Ds was full, I’d already exhausted the charity shops the day before and it was too early to justify cocktails at the Kazbar.

In the end – huddled under my umbrella – I headed into the Ultimate Picture Palace which loomed like a protective cave from the rainy day in Oxford.

This was a few years ago and I was in the middle of my undergraduate studies. I ordered a small glass of red wine, a bar of dark chocolate and took my seat. It was a Danish independent film with subtitles and I didn't have a clue what to expect. I only remember feeling utterly relaxed and luxurious. On that particular afternoon, I looked behind me to see an older, white-haired lady nursing her own glass of red, and snapping squares from her own bar of chocolate and I felt a wonderful sense of peace sweep through me, protecting me from the outside world.

I lived close to the Cowley Road at that time and such outing were a regular thing. Sadly now Ism the other side of town and – though Oxford is admittedly small – I tend not to head over that way.

I miss it. Instead, I’m left with the Odeon in the centre, which is great for the newest Hollywood blockbuster but not for insightful and thoughtful indie art films.

I remembered this particular afternoon earlier this week when I read that the Ultimate Picture Palace had recently had lots of money spent on a revamp.

I couldn’t be happier for my old friend, because we need independent cinemas like never before. I enjoy all cinema, Hollywood blockbusters included. I even love the predictable plots, unbelievable stunts and plastic performers. But I also need something real. Some semblance of authentic life mirrored back at me. I go to the cinema to escape, sure, but also to be moved, inspired and to truly feel something.

I’m writing this from the warmth of San Francisco. But as I read that article and remembered my cosy afternoons spent at the UPP, I made a mental note to scuttle along the Cowley Road the moment I get home. If only for the excuse to drink wine and nibble chocolate on a rainy weekday afternoon.

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