Monday, 30 January 2017

Tomorrow will be kinder...

I took the husband to see the sequel to Trainspotting on Friday evening.  This was a long awaited film, but I'll be very honest with you, apart from the obvious scenes (carpet, toilet) I couldn't remember much of the first one.  Now's let's face it, in 1996 I had one two year old and another almost on the way, so a film about Scottish drug addicts wouldn't have been high up on my list of preferred viewing.  I would imagine that Teletubbies would have been wall to wall in our house around then.  I am sure that they would have been much funnier if they had been nurturing a habit of some sort (rather than just carrying a red handbag) but as I say, Trainspotting was never right up there for me at that time.

As years have raced by, I have caught up with the film, but as I sat in the cinema with a very giddy husband (who had managed to eat his way through half his bodyweight in ice cream before the trailers finished) I realised that none of what I was about to watch was going to make any sense whatsoever.  The director had taken all this into consideration though, and there were flashbacks to help us oldies.

So on Saturday afternoon, we watched the first Trainspotting, and then the sequel from the previous evening suddenly all made a lot more sense.  I now have an idea of how it is for the husband with the Star Wars franchise (4, 5, 6, 1, 2, 3, 7, standalone) which always blows his mind.  More in common with Trainspotting that I initially thought then...

Yesterday afternoon, the husband drove me and the two fuzzballs down to West Wittering where we met up with a load of other fuzzballs and their humans to walk together.  Yet again, we were raising money, specifically this time for Merlin and Lacey, two ex-breeding miniature schnauzers with a long shopping list of treatments needed to heal them physically.  If you fancy helping then along, here's the link

Percy loves these walks, as it gives him a chance to rekindle his woofer bromance with Hugo.  However, the falling rain and sandblasting wind cooled his ardour slightly, and Percy had to be content with a quick fumble in the sand dunes.  Reg on the other hand, as befitting his East End namesake, scrapped his way around the beach.  Never starting anything, but always in the thick of it.  The husband had to hoist him high a couple of times (I knew there was a reason we put their harnesses on) with Reg doing his Wizard of Oz Cowardly Lion 'Put 'em up, put 'em up' paw gestures whilst being carted off like a toddler having a tantrum.

But it was a successful afternoon, as we didn't lose either of them, and hopefully lots of money will have been raised by generous, caring people.

Speaking of this, in our pre-walk cafe stop for crab sandwiches, a couple came up to our table and asked us about the dogs, and what we were all doing here.  When I told them, they both fished around in their coat pockets, and handed me £5 to put in the donation bucket.

After a week of racist posturing and unbelievable discrimination on the other side of the pond,  it restored my faith a little...

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