Monkey Business

Took Auntie Aggie to the movies yesterday. Given the choice she insisted on watching 'Inception'. She had brought with her a bicycle horn, some spam sandwiches and, these days, is never without her 3d glasses, even though the film was only showing in HD. She says the glasses make her look like Groucho, especially when she waves her fat Havana and shrugs her black, bushy eyebrows. Her well practiced stoop is a legacy of too many years emulating one of her screen heroes Charles Laughton (playing the Hunchback of Notre Dame) in her Anderson Shelter.

As we settled into our seats right at the front, I patiently tried to explain that the plot might be too taxing but she assured me she thrived on psychobabble. The attendant soon relieved her of her horn, which she squeezed at the exciting bits. That initially drew a little unwanted attention to us during the adverts. I thought what the bloke next to her said he'd do with his tub of popcorn, though, was well out of order.

Needless to say the story involving characters in murky goings-on while in multiple dream states was tricky. Aggie seemed quite content as the action developed, but I began suffering flashbacks as the main feature rolled on.

In the film if you die while in a deep dream state you can spend an indeterminable time in 'mind limbo', ageing like an old man, lost in a strange world and mumbling to yourself, a bit like the latter stages of the Pentland Skyline when you cramp after 2 hours in a 3 hour race.

There's an all action chase through some urban landscape with the rain belting down and people staring at you in a hostile manner which took me back to a 10 miler somewhere in 2007 and, later, there was scenes of carnage on a boulder strewn, snowy mountain which had me shuddering and cowering in my comfy seat as I recalled my Ben Nevis Hill Race debacle last year.

The film finished and the credits rolled and I looked around wondering how many of the chattering audience were at the 2nd showing and who was any the wiser. As we groped around for our coats, the helpful girl gave Aggie her confiscated horn back. I hadn't even noticed Aggie polishing off her sandwiches.

As we walked out the door, I asked Aggie what she thought of the film. She paused for a minute, wiped the crumbs off her moustache and said 'One morning I shot an elephant in my pajamas. How it got into my pajamas I'll never know'
Honk, Honk.
(I know. You can't believe you're reading this as well!)