A Mouth Full of Popcorn

My stomach already hurts in advance of my dinner – massive bag of Minstrels and a large vat of sweet and salty popcorn.

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That should see me through the film

For it is ‘date night’ – for want of a better word. And there must be better ways of putting it.

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#couplegoals

So – I’m ‘off out’ with my other half to the cinema, against his will for three reasons:

a) it’s midweek and he hates going out on a school night

b) he’s probably missing some sporting event on some obscure channel. Latest obsession is speed climbing. (Honestly, it’s a ‘thing’.)

c) he hates the cinema

BUT! Tonight, he is less reluctant, for the viewing material is his choice…

Well, my choice actually. In scrolling through Instagram, Kate Hiscox (@wearsmymoney) alerted me to the ‘one night only’ showing of Coldplay‘s documentary. Tonight. November 14th in case you are not reading this in real-time.

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I booked it and told him only that I was ‘taking him out somewhere, that it was a surprise, but that he would love it’.

Big mistake.

Huge.

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The next few hours resulted in Jack Bauer-esque interrogation and guesses about at what I had done/booked/organised/sorted.

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Until he finally worked it out. Loves a surprise my husband…

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Hates these too

Anyway, he worked it out and seemed okay with it.

Am hoping this is a rare cinematic occasion where he’s actually watches the cinema screen instead of his Twitter feed.

For he is not a cinema fan in general – too dark, too many people, means a late night for him – whereas I will go and see pretty much anything on at the cinema.

I love the immersive experience of it. The escapism, the dark, the phones-away element.

I even enjoy the adverts at the beginning, before you get to the trailers for new releases. Yup, I’m ‘that’ person. My favourite is for the sound system, featuring all the vibrating silver beads. (Don’t judge.)

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What? It soothes me

I’ve always loved logos and imagery and when the Touchstone Pictures logo popped up on screen, you knew you were in for a treat. I’ve selected a few favourites:

 

 

Pure joy in these films IMO

My preferred seat, if available, is end of aisle. Husband too, purely for the extra legroom.

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Me, I like it for the potential loo break if a film is over 2 hours, although I try to avoid excessive liquids in these situations, because I get scared if no-one else is in the ladies.

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Photo Credit: memecenter.com

I have flashbacks to a horror film from the 80s called ‘Demons‘. (There’s always an issue with horror films and loos.) The person either doesn’t return their seat. Or if they do return, then something bad has happened to them. In the loo.

In terms of the cinema itself, I’m really not choosy.

I love my local VUE. Great for Wagamama lunch option too.

The Everyman experience is wonderfully cosy, but the snacks aren’t up to much, although the cookie dough thing is pretty spesh.

Reel are a fab local option for me, especially over half term with a load of kids in tow. Doesn’t require a second mortgage.

Also, I have certain friends for certain films.

The crap dance films where the hoodlum boy falls in love with the posh girl over a love of dance. I have a great friend for that.

Or the super sad films where I will cry – alot – and know that my cinema buddy will not judge because she will be sobbing in equal amounts too.

Or the Bridget Jones-type films, where it requires a group of you to go en masse and then dissect the film on a whatsapp chat later that night, quoting favourite lines from it.

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So if you’re heading to the cinema tonight to watch this Coldplay film, please:

Don’t be super late. I am not standing up to let you down the aisle when I’m midway through enjoying the opening titles.

Don’t sit behind me and rest your shoes on the armrest gap bit. Especially in summer, wearing open toe shoes.

Don’t eat cheesy jalapeño nachos next to me, behind me, in front of me. Anywhere near me, thanks.

Off to empty my bladder for tonight.

Dx.

 

 

I Just Called to Say I Love You

As a true 80s kid, I recently re-lived the heady days of my youth by watching ‘Stranger Things‘ and loved it. Somehow it wasn’t on my radar last year, but thanks to binge-watching I have completed Seasons 1 & 2. If you haven’t done it, do it. Think ‘ET’, meets ‘The Lost Boys’ meets ‘Stand by Me’ meets ‘Nightmare on Elm Street’. And a soundtrack of greatness including ‘Hazy Shade of Winter’ by ‘The Bangles’. (Now on my gym playlist.)

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I’m not saying I’m willing to go back to the 80s – no GHD‘s, only one fragrance option in the form of ‘Electric Youth’ and horrific fake tan for starters –  but I do find myself very happily reminiscing about simpler times.

 

No mobile phones for one thing. Maybe the odd pager. At University, one roommate was way ahead of her time and had a pager thingy. Still not sure why. She didn’t have aspirations in the medical field, and yet carried it on her person at all times.

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Be at the Student bar. 9:30 sharp.

 

It was all about the landline. Husband still takes great pleasure in reciting friends’ home phone numbers to them. It’s a skill. Obviously I remember my own. I just dialled it. Purely for fun. Try it for yourself. Quite cathartic. Imagine if your teenage self answered? (Oohhh.. film idea.)

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Old faithful

These days, I’m still all about the landline. I don’t know why. I just like it. If you give me an option of a landline number, I will call it. Most of my friends know that if their landline rings, it’s me (or PPI.)

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My own landline is a random ‘0203’ number which often catches people off guard…

“Hi, is this so-and-so? I’m calling from the National Lottery and you have an unclaimed jackpot ticket for the EuroMillions…”

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Yeah, good luck. It’s me, you idiot.

 

If the landline rings in my own house, no-one answers it. Literally they all feign deafness to the Nth degree. At best, husband will take a glance at the caller ID and decide that it’s not for him and deign not to answer it. (Feign and deign in one paragraph. I even impressed myself.)

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Pick it up!!!

But going back to that 80s thing, I do miss the purpose of actually making a phone call on the landline. It meant there was something of importance to declare, to tell, to announce, to share.

Hours and hours spent on the phone to friends, talking gibberish. Even a dabble on those  0891 numbers with one particular friend. The phone bill, OMG the phone bill. No wonder those party lines got shut down.

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Remember the Chat Back jingle? “FIFTY! FIFTY! FIFTY!”

 

If all this nostalgia is making me sound old, I suppose it’s because I am. I commented to someone about loving the ‘Not3s and Mabel’ song, ‘My Lover‘ (handy link for you.)

“Yeah”, she said, “Mabel’s mum was some famous singer years ago. Let me Google it.”

I’m thinking ‘years ago’, as in way before my time, in that I too wouldn’t know who the mother was. She Googled and showed me the mother.

Neneh.

Neneh Fucking Cherry.

Mabel’s mum.

That’s not ‘some singer years ago’.

That’s my youth, learning every word to every song on ‘Raw Like Sushi’ from the cassette inlay card.

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Gigolo, huh. Sucka.

A youth free from social media, making real phone calls and writing proper letters to people, to hear that satisfying ‘plumpf’ from bundles of post falling onto the front door mat. Valentines cards even…

…and talking of Valentines Day (subtle lead in)…

This is what I’ll be making for dessert tonight.

Nigella’s Cookie Dough Pots

Easiest recipe ever. Click above 👆🏻👆🏻👆🏻 for gateway to dessert heaven. 

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6 ramekins + 3 spoons = 2 each

Foolproof. Okay so maybe one particular friend will fuck it up, but what can I do?

Freezable. If they ever make it that far.

Parev. If you are that way inclined and sub the butter for veg friendly option like Tomer (other brands available).

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I use these. No pressure

I also use disposable foil pots when I can’t be bothered with washing up ramekins because I have over eaten and am more Waynetta than Nigella.

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Valentines Night Goals

But tonight Matthew, I’ll be using these. For novelty fun.

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All hail Tiger Stores and their seasonal shelves

Thank me later. But don’t blame me if recipe doesn’t feed 6. It doesn’t. I can eat at least 4 of them…

Happy Valentines Day.

x

Holiday Romance

We were only away for ten days but the washing pile to rival Mount Everest tells a very different story. I know it makes more work for me but I respond well to instructions so if it says ‘wash separately’, I’m abiding by the label’s rules.

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I can’t take credit for this mountain

Swimwear is hand-washed, kids’ toy bunnies/penguins are boil-washed and everyone has a thorough shower and hair wash to rid us of ‘plane smell’.

I managed three films plus half a ‘Curb Your Enthusiasm‘ outbound. Husband watched seven hours of the ‘where our plane is’ channel, mixed with an hour of ‘chatting’ (having therapy) to a pilot who happened to be a passenger. (To be fair on husband, even the crew were told to take their seats because the turbulence was so bad.)

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Are we there yet?

Flying and turbulence doesn’t phase me – maybe that’s why I don’t have a problem with rollercoasters, but I have lots of friends who fear plane journeys. Many of their trips have been booked and then cancelled last-minute because they can’t face the reality of having to board a plane.

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I admit I do have one ritual before boarding the plane – I like to pat it. (The plane. what else did you think I meant?) After boarding at the furthest gate* from the terminal possible, I walk the jetway and casually touch the plane’s exterior as I step aboard. I don’t know why, but I like knowing the ‘bit’ I touched will make contact with the clouds. (I know rayyyt?)

*Briefly back to the gate bit. I just need some reassurance that no-one’s gate is ever within a 2 minute walk from wherever they’re been sitting. And there are always stairs. Or escalators that don’t work. 

This year, my family holidayed in America and aside from the ‘Ice Breakers’, clothing and essential US-drugstore purchases, we came back with something else this year. New numbers in our phones.

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We made friends.

Unheard of. Absurd. Unthinkable.

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What he said

Unless the outbound journey is purposefully taken with another family, we tend to be fairly unsociable on holiday. But this year was different.

Maybe it was because the first part of our trip was to Disney. That part required regimented schedules, timings and finite planning. Not the kind of thing easily done with others. It was all about us – the team. We were in the parks most days by 7am and in bed with delirium by 9pm.

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“Hello, Room Service?”

After four days of (exhausting) fun we were ready to relax in Miami. Maybe it was jet lag? Maybe our guards were down from all the rides and 3D craziness? Before you could say ‘have a nice day’ we were breakfasting, lunching and even ‘dinnering’ with this other family.

It was all moving so fast, so of course there were moments of doubt. Like waiting in reception to go for dinner one night and no sign on of them at the agreed departure time. Perhaps they were bored of us? Maybe their Uber had left for the restaurant already? Were they ‘late types’? We were confused and bewildered.

“You call.”

“No. You call.”

Like the pivotal end scene from a John Hughes movie, they appeared from the lobby. (Cue 80s soundtrack, like Starship or something equally as powerful and uplifting.)

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“He showed.” (Yay Andrew McCarthy for turning up for the date)

Our friends had an early riser in their ranks in the form of a five-year-old, so we were on slightly different morning schedules. We usually passed them just as they were leaving breakfast, but were delighted to hear “got you four sunbeds”. Well, if Carlsberg made holiday friends, I tell you…

The space allowed us to politely nod and chat to other guests getting their morning fill of the great American breakfast. (Mostly Jews getting their fill of bacon. Talking of which…)

My friend’s in-laws were in the same hotel as us and I bumped into the dad by the hot food one sunny morning. I politely chatted whilst he munched crispy sticks of applewood bacon ‘on-the-go’.

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The heroin of bacon

“Wow,” I thought, “he really must love bacon that he can’t even wait until he sits down to eat it.”

I headed out to the terrace and saw the wife, who ushered me over with a big smile. I said how I’d just been chatting to her husband over his plate of treif. The smile disappeared. She was livid and had no idea he was ‘on the bacon’. Whoops…

Me and my new mates even took our new friendship outside of the hotel, heading off on adventures like lifelong buddies.

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On tour

 

So delightfully in tune we were, that a nod and a wink was all that was required to understand that easily pilfered items like bagels, cookies and mini breakfast cereal packets were to be lifted for ‘daytime sustenance’.

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Frosted Flakes were super popular

Oh the fun we had. We created ‘in’ jokes and hashtags and social media’d the crap out of the holiday.

But after all’s said and done and the cases have been put back in the loft, is it ever really the same once you’re back on home ground?

Of course not.

For a start they’re called ‘Frosties’ and we don’t eat bacon at home.

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They’re grrrrrreat!

Happy New Year. x x x