Skip to main content

Short people...

The final part of Friday's day off was a trip to the cinema with the husband.  I had suggested this film having seen the trailer last week when we went to see Darkest Hour, and the husband, ever the one for a quiet life, agreed that he wanted to see it to.

Sitting in the cinema with twelve other people (I should have known), the husband leant over to me and whispered, 'I love everything Meryl Streep does'.  

'Me too', I said, quietly diving into my popcorn.

'I thought we might have seen her by now.  And Tom Hanks', he whispered.

'But they're not in this film', I whispered.  'That's The Post you're thinking about'.


'What's this then?  I thought we were coming to the The Post'.  (Whisper slightly raised at this point).

'No', said I.  'This is Downsizing.  The funny film about people being shrunk.  The one with the vodka bottle'.

'Oh.  Well I've been telling everyone all day that I was going to see The Post'.

'Well you're not, so shut up and eat your popcorn'.

So let's talk about Downsizing, shall we.  Now I thought this was meant to be a comedy, and I spend the first hour chortling loudly at various things.  It was after a particularly loud guffaw (at the stereotypical Vietnamese cleaner with a leg missing) that the husband turned to me again, and said that as I was the only person who was laughing, perhaps it wasn't a comedy after all, but a serious film about the possible end of the world thanks to careless humans and f*rting cows.

So I stopped laughing, at which point the film became very daft and very boring.  We did make it to the end, although the husband started fidgeting and muttering about an hour from the end (yes, it was that long).

As the closing credits rolled, he said to me, loud enough for the other twelve people to hear, 'That was the worst film I've seen since Watership Down'.

Now that was at the cinema in 1978, so I would imagine that he either hasn't seen many films over the last forty years, or he has forgotten about various films which we have walked out of before the end.

I'm still trying to forget the seventeen minutes of my life which I'll never get back involving Into The Woods...


Popular posts from this blog

Say goodbye...

Here's a question for you.  Why is it that when we are dieting, we say that we have 'lost weight'.  To me this implies that at some time in the not so distant future, we're going to find it again.  I like to imagine a 28lb blob of yellow fat in a three piece suit, winking lasciviously at me and saying, 'Oi skinny.  I've missed you.  Fancy letting me ride shotgun around those hips again?'
So instead of 'losing weight' I am getting rid of it.  Throwing it away.  Killing it.   Banishing it, never to be seen again.  Previous experience tells me that I will probably have old Blobby hanging back around my middle in a couple of years, once I've tired of leaves and crispbreads, but I am trying to do things slightly different this time.  Slowing down the stampeding rate I eat (I blame hurried school lunches for this), speeding up the walking, and being more aware of what I am doing and why I am doing it.
Someone once told me that if I ever felt like pickin…

Cold wind blows...

I don't know how cold it is with you at the moment, but I spent yesterday morning snapping the two furballs off various trees and posts as we attempted a walk before I went to work.  I had made the schoolgirl error of asking myself, 'Just how cold can it be?' before putting one extra sweater on beneath my walking coat.  I also had my Olga from the Volga fur hat, a scarf and gloves (to be fair, I've been wearing all of these since the middle of October).  Unfortunately, what I hadn't taken into consideration was the above the knee dress I was wearing to work yesterday.  I imagined that the extra warmth up top would somehow work its way to my knees.  
I was wrong.
Getting back indoors after forty five minutes of combat with The Beast from the East, I looked down at my legs.  Even with the black 100 denier tights I was wearing, I could see that my legs had taken on a slightly different hue to normal.  They were looking like two red pillar boxes, and it took ten minutes …

A man could go quite mad...

I have started to realise that there are many things about me which drive the husband mad.  When you first get together, those small faults are cute and a little bit quirky.  However, fast forward a couple of decades and they become a fairly acceptable excuse for manslaughter.  
I started thinking about this after the contretemps with the cutlery drawer a couple of weeks ago.  If you remember, the husband informed that that I was messing with his feng shui by putting the boiled egg spoons in with the dessert forks.  He only seemed to notice that I did this after I bought a new cutlery tray for the drawer, so I'm blaming Groupon for grassing me up.
The other thing is my snoring.  When we first met, this was described as 'endearing', and he told me that as he lay next to me at night, he used to smile to himself and listen to me.  This swiftly moved on to comparisons with a nasally challenged warthog, and more recently to a Boeing 747 with a noisy exhaust.  I'm considerate …