Well winter definitely announced its arrival this weekend, a little ahead of schedule. I am currently typing this in my PJs next to the gas fire. Lucy is snuggled up to me and asleep and my husband is in the bedroom under about four duvets with the electric blanket on.
I was woken around 2 or 3 am by the sound of rain coming through the roof. This is ridiculous, I have got to get it fixed, but the problem is I do not know who to ask. What manner of tradesman fixes a leaking roof? A roof tiler? A roof carpenter? The water is coming in near the air conditioning unit and I suspect the leak has been cause by one of the guys we have had up there ‘servicing’ it in big clumpy boots, who kicked a tile while working.
I have had to drag the rug away from the water and now it is lying curled up like a sulking snake and will probably trip my husband up tomorrow morning as he stumbles around getting ready in the pitch darkness.
I left the house at 9.30 this morning because I had finally decided that I had left enough time for the hoardes to recede from the cinema and I could safely attend a screening of Guardians of the Galaxy, V2. The film started at 10.30 am but after last week’s debacle I was leaving nothing to chance. The weather was cold and grey and cold rain was falling as I drove along. About half way there I passed a police checkpoint being set up to stop drivers for random breath testing. Pretty optimistic at that time in the morning, but I guess there will always be the chance of someone driving home after heavy night and not realising that sleep does not accelerate alcohol break-down in the body.
We have a breathaliser at home, because my husband’s work has random breath testing and they decided that they would tolerate nothing but a zero reading a couple of years ago, even though you can drive a car in Australia at 0.05. I am too chicken to ever drink anything if I am driving, but I am sure that on the odd occasion in the past I would not have blown zero on the morning after a night before. As I am not drinking at the moment, I thankfully do not have to worry about it.
Even the cinema was cold. I was wearing a T shirt, jumper and sleeveless jacket but could sense what felt suspiciously like air conditioning on. When I had arrived at the cinema, the 10.30 am session time was not showing in the board and for a moment I thought I had made a mistake, but the lad behind the till explained to me (and everyone else as it happened) that the showtimes had been reset but had defaulted to the eastern states’ time zones so were all wrong for us. I wondered if perhaps the eastern states were also controlling the heating in the auditorium, because that was out by a mile too.
I enjoyed the film, but suspect I will enjoy it better on a re-watch in a couple of months’ time. I had heard too much about it and without realising it, had made some assumptions about what the film was going to do, so it kept bumping me out of the narrative. And although there were some good, funny moments, I found myself mostly in tears. Same thing happened to me when I saw Bridesmaids.
My main problem with the film was the 132 minute running time, which is just taking the Michael, frankly. When it comes to movie running times, I am with Jodie Foster: just get on with it and tell the damn story. Ninety minutes is quite long enough, thanks. By the time I had left plenty of time to get to the cinema, buy my ticket, watched 20 minutes of ads and trailers, driven home and been stopped at the RBT by the police who were still there and all freezing their butts off, I had lost four hours of my Sunday. FOUR HOURS.
This was bad enough but yesterday my husband had bought himself a lump of meat and asked if I wouldn’t mind transforming it into a roast dinner tonight. As the meat was beef brisket, I ended up roasting it for four hours in a low oven.
Four hours for the film, four hours for the meat, and that was pretty much my day.