Saturday, 15 July 2017

Baby driver...

On Wednesday, I suggested to the husband that we might go to the cinema at the weekend.

He gave me that look.  The one which asks:

Has it got foreign subtitles?
Is it a slushy romance which might involve a heaving bosom?
Does a dog get lost/get hurt/die in it?
Will you be crying all the way through it?
Does it involve two gay cowboys? (He's never recovered from Brokeback Mountain)

Well I surprised him with the trailer for Baby Driver, and he agreed that it looked like something he might enjoy at a push. Despicable Me 3 was his last choice, so you can see what I am dealing with here.  Barry Norman he isn't.

Now we are fairly spoilt around here, with a relative smorgasbord of cinemas to choose from. However, since going to see Despicable Me 3 a couple of weeks ago, all cinemas bar one have been scrapped as far as he is concerned. Why is this?  Well firstly this particular cinema does his favourite rum and raisin ice cream, so when we went to order, the girl behind the counter asked whether he wanted 'two scoops, three scoops or seven in a milkshake'.  Well the husband's eyebrows almost disappeared over the horizon of his bald pate, and wide-eyed he nodded.  'Seven please'.

So I booked the tickets for this cinema (based on a milkshake), and last night we went to see Baby Driver.  We'd decided last minute that we both needed to eat, so the husband suggested that we 'stop at the first pub we see'. Well it turned out that the pub we went to had staff who had all graduated from the Jack Dee School of Charm.  The waitress looked like she'd rather steal your handbag than fetch you some real butter (Flora on a jacket potato just isn't right) and the landlord looked like Droopy he was so bloody miserable. Having said that that the food was lovely (I have to say that that in case the waitress reads this - I bet she has connections) but it took quite some time to get to us, so by the time we actually got out of the pub, we had approximately seven minutes to get to the cinema, park up, get the tickets and buy the ice cream.  Something was going to have to be sacrificed...

The husband screeched to a halt as close to the cinema as he could, and pushed me out of the car, saying rapidly, 'You get the tickets, I'll go and park.  And don't run on that crutch'. Doing my best one legged trot, I went and got the tickets.  Just as I was heading to the ice cream area, the husband tore into the cinema, red faced. 'I'll get these..you go to the loo, quick, before it starts'.  

There was a massive queue for ice cream (this is normal as the girls there are not built for speed if you know what I mean).  Coming back from my well needed comfort break, he steered me towards the cinema.  'Go and get the seats, I'll catch you up with the ice creams'. 

Handing over the tickets to the boy on the door, I told him that my husband would be coming through with no ticket, so could they let him in.  They asked me what he looked like so that they could wave him through.

'Oh you can't miss him', I said.  'He's the red faced chap with a mile wide smile, carrying a bucket of milkshake'.

We just made the opening credits. And the film?

Daft.  Brilliant, but daft...



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