Thursday, 27 April 2017


On Tuesday evening, Mrs S and I went to the cinema to see 'Their Finest', a film which has been on my list of things to watch since I first saw the trailer back in February.  It's set in the 1940's, my favourite era (although parts of 1978 and 1984 were pretty good also) and I was really looking forward to it.  Because Mrs S and I work for a living, we grabbed the early showing at 5.30.  I like going early as it means that I feel I've had a night out, but can still be in bed by 9.00 should I feel like it.  Admittedly after Tuesday at Binland, I'm surprised I made it past 7.00, but the film was brilliant and I managed to stay awake all the way through it.  

I collected Mrs S at 5.00, and had a couple of sandwiches stuffed in my handbag to eat when we got there.  Even as I write this, I am feeling like a cheapskate, but hey, money doesn't grow on trees (or in my savings account either it would seem).  Settling down in the cinema, having managed to successfully navigate my way around a barcode ticket on my phone we went in.  

This is the problem with these blooming bar codes.  Yes, it's easier and yes, it saves paper, but unless you repeat the screen and seat numbers all the way down the corridor under your breath, by the time you get to the right screen, you've forgotten where you're sitting.  We were just thinking about shining the torch on Mrs S's phone on to the confirmation email on mine, when Mrs S remembered the seat numbers.  We were in the corner.  I'm not sure why I always book the corner seats, but there you go.

Peeling back the packaging on our sandwiches, we started to work our way through them quietly. The two ladies in front were doing much the same, but with crisps and popcorn, and one of them had very loud teeth.  The trouble is, this set Mrs S and me off.  It would appear that it doesn't matter how old you are, loud crisps in a quiet cinema is always going to be funny.

The film was great, and I don't want to spoil it for you if you haven't seen it, but one of the characters dies, when a lighting platform collapses.

Mrs S and I were aghast and agog, as we hadn't seen that coming at all, and there was even the threat of a tear or two.  Now I have known Mrs S for the best part of thirty years, and I know how to cheer her up.

'It brings new meaning to being 'lamped' I suppose', I muttered under my breath.

How she laughed...

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