Celeb Big Brother is some crazyarse piece of work this time round, if you’re watching it. I’m not really watching it but catch the odd wee five minutes while channel surfing. There’s a particularly odious big blonde gobshite who seems to very much enjoy “being honest wiv ya babe” and wearing sunglasses and coats indoors. I’d avoid her like the plague. And the programme. Don’t watch it; it’s vile.
Today I’m disproportionately pissed off that cinema listings only go up to Thursday. Surely they know what’s coming? Or do they get to Thursday and go “ooft is that the time? I’ve taken my eye off the ball. Quick! What’ll we put on tomorrow? Oh stick that old Chitty Chitty Bang Bang DVD in – it’s only Dumfries Odeon. They’re practically Neanderthal down there. They wouldn’t know a good film if it popped up in their soup. They’re too busy making latch hook rugs and crocheting antimacassars. They’ve no time for the moving pictures”.
But srsly though – why DO the listings only go up to Thursday? It’s a bloody nonsense – I can’t forward plan. And I’m all about the forward planning. I’m forward planning a regular Sunday night trip to the pictures by myself, in an attempt to vanquish the beast that is the Sunday night sads, following Mrs ‘Baps departure back to the big city. Don’t invite yourself along please; I enjoy my own company at the pictures. It gives me the opportunity to appear mysterious and enigmatic with a bucket of popcorn.
I went to see Star Wars on Sunday night past, which I enjoyed well enough, but decided that most films including all the Star Wars are just basically Scooby Doo plots, all pesky kids and ‘good will prevail’.
Spoiler alert: I was surprised to see Luke Skywalker found on what appeared to be Arran of all bloody places. I hope he doesn’t use the public toilet in Blackwaterfoot, scene of the famous ‘Karen in Arran’ vomiting incident of yore.
I’ve just remembered that in MY day you had to buy the local paper and turn to the pages just after the middle – the so called “entertainment” page – to look for the tiny advert to find out what was showing in the coming week. And there was always a wee film before the main feature – what did they call that again? My memory is bloody awful. I blame the fumes from my mother’s hair lacquer back in the swinging sixties, copiously applied with a scooshy bottle – no aerosols destroying the ozone layer back then (apologies for this weird meander down memory lane but someone said hair lacquer at work yesterday and I lolled at the ensuing memory although I’ve just googled “hair lacquer 1960s” and can’t find a picture of the bottle I’m thinking of. Have I had a false memory again?)
In other news I spent about twelve hours last night flibbertigibbetting about on the internet trying to spend a twenty quid House of Fraser refund that’s been burning a hole in my pocket. I had a range of items in my virtual shopping basket throughout the course of the shopping extravaganza including a new blusher, a lamp, a pinafore frock which would’ve flattened my ample bosom alarmingly so was quickly jettisoned, an extravagant towel, a purse and overpriced tights which I decided would be too short in the crotch and make me stabby. I finally plumped for a Biba scented candle. God only knows why. Because I’m an idiot, possibly?
Have a great Tuesday. I’ve forward planned a bacon bagel for breakfast and am all excited about the prospect.