Three More Sleeps

Three More Sleeps

I think it’s fairly safe to say that our youngest daughter is winding herself ever tighter at the moment, in anticipation of the arrival of a certain visitor from the North Pole.

We went to a pop-up cinema in the center of town this evening to watch the movie “Elf”. The children had no idea what we were going into town for – they have never been to the pop-up cinema before – neither have we, for that matter.

It turns out the pop-up cinema is organised in what used to be a function room above a building that used to be a huge townhouse in the high-street. Several shops have setup in the building over the years, and eventually failed – victims of the extortionate leaseholds the owners charge in town. And people wonder why all the town has left is coffee shops, restaurants, and clothes shops for women of a certain age.

The cavernous room – which lent itself to perhaps the worst acoustics imaginable – was bedecked with line upon line of sofas and low tables – allowing perhaps fifty people to watch a movie together. At the back of the room a bar serves drinks and snacks for those present, and for the Christmas performances, hot chocolate, popcorn, and mince pies were delivered to your seats too.

It was a fun evening out. I’m not a huge fan of Will Ferrell, but could quite happily watch Zooey Deschanel until the cows come home.

Of course I found something to annoy me intensely during the evening, but kept quiet about it. I bought my other half and eldest daughter a drink from the bar – and having three drinks and only two hands, had to make two trips to carry them back to our seats. When I returned to the bar, a seemingly wealthy guy in his early sixties, full of his own importance, had taken up station in front of the drink I had left, and wasn’t about to move when I returned – despite me gesticulating, and saying “excuse me” with a smile. He completely  blanked me. I ended up leaning over him very obviously to retrieve the drink, and he STILL ignored me. I so wanted to whisper a collection of four letter words in his ear, but of course couldn’t think of anything at the time.

Why are some people like that? What did the world do to them? Are they born ignorant, obnoxious, and rude, or do they have to work at it?

Anyway. We are home now. The oven just announced that a pizza that has been cooking for the last half hour is finished cooking. I better go retrieve it before Miss 14 eats it all (we’re supposed to be sharing it).

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