Wherever did this week go? It’s been quite a full week – noticing the golden weeping willow against the blue boats whilst walking along the canal into town for lunch at the local chip shop cafe, Saturday morning coffee in search of Mr Longshanks Scribbler, a check up at the vet’s for Kizzy, a visit to Miss Dancing for afternoon tea, a trip to see Mr Dancing’s son and LMD II and have dinner with them.
It was also off to the cinema to see War Horse at The Westway Cinema in Frome. I love it there and not only because it is, or was, one of only 2 licensed cinemas in the country – people queue firstly for tickets, then sweets or popcorn and then perhaps a glass of beer. They sell sweets during the intermission in a little area next to the screen – a quick whipping across of a curtain enables you to purchase sweets at normal prices! Give me that rather than a soul-less multiplex any day.
War Horse was very enjoyable – the casting was good and I particularly liked Albert Narracott (although my mind kept drifting back to years ago when I used to work at The Narracott Grand Hotel in Woolacombe). The Dartmoor scenery was beautifully shot. The Devonshire accents were a bit wonky at times and I was a little thrown when Albert’s father walked to the local town to sell Joey … in real terms he went from Dartmoor, tramped across Somerset and ended up in Wiltshire at Castle Combe, where the architecture is more Cotswolds than Devon (cob and thatch cottages rather than limestone ones would have been more authentic). That aside, I really enjoyed it – it made me think of how my grandfather served in the First World War and worked with horses.
I started to read the book since seeing the film and can’t quite come to grips with the horse being the narrator. I abandoned Graham Norton’s autobiography to read it so perhaps it’s just a culture shock.
This week I caught up with the second and final episode of Birdsong on TV. I’d read the novel years ago. Another beautifully shot drama although, from memory, Sebastian Faulkes’ book covered life in the trenches in greater detail.
After a much-needed hair trim on Monday I peeked into the florist’s shop. A bunch of flowers for £3 or a pot of hyacinths? No contest. When we got home, Mr Dancing delved into the shed to find the blue and white pot to complement them.