Sunday, 8 January 2017


On Friday night, I finally succumbed to agreeing to go and see the latest offering from the Star Wars lot.  You may remember the difficulty I have faced over the years with the husband, as to the explanation of which set of films came first.  When they released number seven last year, there was a lot of muttering from the husband in the cinema as to who was who.  So you can imagine, that when I saw that they had released yet another film, I was a little anxious. 

'It'll be fine', reassured daughter number one.  'It's a stand alone film so it won't matter even if you haven't seen the other films'.  Well this sounded rather promising, so the husband, who is still trying to get into my good books having criticized my Christmas cake for having too much fruit in it (I ask you...) said we should go out for dinner first, then on to the cinema.

We headed down to the The Red Lion ( our new favourite hostelry, for dinner. The food was brilliant as ever, and it was about the time the bill was brought over, that the husband announced that he'd left his wallet at home.  The Brownie points he'd earned took a slight dip at this revelation, but we (I) paid up and headed off to the cinema.

Now the husband had drunk two pints of Guinness while we were eating ( I was driving before you start worrying about how little I value my life) and as we stood at the cinema counter getting ice creams, I could sense that he was slightly puddled.  I ordered my ice cream, and had almost finished it by the time he decided what he wanted, eventually settling on strawberry with hot fudge sauce.  Sober, this would be a strange combination, but who am I to question his choices (even the lady serving looked slightly perturbed, and I bet she's seen some things in her time).

So the film was dreadful.  When I say this, I am mainly talking about the second half, as I slept through the first hour.  Who knows, perhaps the first half was an incredible piece of filming with excellent acting and dialogue not over run with daft music.  But I doubt it.  There was a lot of fidgeting going on throughout the cinema (never a good sign) and the husband, ever sensitive to my mood, suggested that we walk out after an hour and a half.  I declined, not wanting to do the walk of shame from the back row through the hard-core Star Wars fans (bald men in cheap anoraks) who were crammed into the cinema. 

When the film finally ended, we walked out of the auditorium past a cinema member of staff who was holding the door open.

'Thank you', said the husband, and then after the smallest of pauses, 'I'm just not sure what for'.

For once, I was in full agreement with him, but I will be choosing the next film for sure...

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