So I went to see Everest in 3D last night. Because it was there. At the cinema, in case clarification is required: I didn’t schlep to the foothills of the Himalayas after work yesterday, and certainly not with these inappropriately shod feet.
The fact that I went to the pictures at all is an achievement in itself. I hardly dared show face after the brouhaha I caused on Facebook last year when I inadvertently caused a diplomatic incident by daring to criticise the what you might call aesthetic of Dumfries Cinema through the Odeon’s global Facebook page. I was Dumfries’ answer to Cat Bin Lady (remember her?) for a good week. That post got a gazillion comments, not all of them supportive or complementary including one that made me lol: “No way Lynsdey (sic), that’s fukin wyd lyke”, which for the benefit of my foreign readers i.e anyone outside the burgh of Dumfries translates as “For goodness sake Lindsey, how very dare you criticise our local cinema: you’re a damn fool”.
I hardly dared venture out of the house for a good month after that, and the Big Tesco was out of bounds, with parents cuddling their children closer if they glimpsed me in the savoury snacks aisle (which, after I’m dead will be renamed The Tigerbaps Memorial Aisle, I hope) as their children pointed and screamed “Mummy that’s that scary lady off the internet, she’s stealing all the Cheesy Wotsits!” and the terrified mothers would reply “Run, Lambrusco-Chardonnay! Run like the wind! Let her have the Cheesy Wotsits! They’re only 100 calories a pack, she’ll never survive on one multipack and she looks like she’s hangry!”
So child number two and I scaled the north face of the Odeon in our 3D glasses and settled in to watch Jake Gyllenhal et al shout inaudible dialogue to each other up the Khyber Pass (I know that’s not Everest, I’m employing a literary device called talking shite). I’m no Barry Norman and rarely have well thought through opinions about anything but I’d give it an 8 out of 10. An enjoyable romp, despite Kiera Knightley’s acting chin putting in the odd appearance.
It left me feeling wistful though. Wistful that I’ll never climb Everest. I have previous with mountains. I climbed Criffel a few years ago https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Criffel without supplemental oxygen, in Clarks trainers, leggings, an I Heart NYC hoodie splattered with the tears of a mild hangover and midge repellant. I felt like quite the conquering hero. There wasn’t even a gift shop or a cup of tea at the summit. That went straight on the old cv. It demonstrates resilience and stamina, doesn’t it?
It’s also arguably and marginally more interesting than me looking windswept and Ken Doddish atop a hill.