SATC obsession

Okay, okay, I know I’m starting to sound a bit like a broken record here but I REALLY want to see Sex & The City at the cinema and there are still no subtitled showings listed.

Despite the mixed reviews about it, ranging from utter crap with more product placements than Selfridges to ‘So amazing, *Sob*, I cried the whole way through!’ I feel the need to make up my own mind – and I want to do this with a life-sized Carrie staring back at me.

I love the cinema – squishing down in to those massive seats with the cup holders that no cups seem to fit in. I even love the smell of stale popcorn that lingers on from the last movie and the millions of adverts that you have to sit through before the movie starts.

The boy I was in love with, who took me for a crap in Hampstead (see Words aren’t all I have), understood my frustrated and unrequited affection for the cinema and tried his hardest to take me as often as possible. This one time we watched La Vie en Rose and, after four hours of seeing Edith Piaf lose the plot then finally die a hideous death, I was so traumatised I nearly passed out in China Town. He hadn’t quite got the grasp the Chick Flick genre being my favourite.

That said, he once took me on a surprise date to Streatham – the romantic capital of the capital – to watch a 1920s’ silent movie, which was brilliant. I think I fell in love with him on that date in spite of the fact we were the only people there who weren’t born in the 1920s and who had our own teeth.

When I can’t go to the cinema, it makes me very mad. About two years ago I went to the cinema for the first time in four years. My friend had triple-checked that the subtitled showing was happening and he bought me popcorn, nachos, a massive diet Coke and some pick & mix to make sure I had a real cinema experience. As we sat down and the movie started I was jigging with excitement. And then, nothing, no subtitles, just a bloody movie for hearing people. My gallant mate dashed off to complain and discovered that the man who knew how to work the machine was on holiday so there would be no subtitles.

Surrounded by my mountain of snacks I wanted to sit there and cry but my sniffing was disturbing the hearing people. So instead I wrote a letter complaining – I’m quite good at these, I once complained to Kettle Chips about their mango crisps not tasting of mango and they sent me a huge box of their mango crisps, which still didn’t taste of mango. The cinema people were equally crap and sent me enough free cinema tickets to last a hearing person a lifetime. Except, not being hearing and with a subtitled showing of a movie I want to see happening once every 4 years, I will probably be dead before I’ve even used half of them…

What a cheerful thought for the day…