Post #1

Orange Wednesdays

POV:

It’s 2009 and it’s also Orange Wednesday.

You’ve been a loyal customer for many years and have been enjoying the perks.

Wednesday rolls around and you’d love to make the most of your ‘two for the price of one’ cinema offer, but you can’t think of anyone to go with at this short notice.

You’re dying to see ‘Fantastic Mr. Fox’, being an avid Wes Anderson fan ever since 2001’s ‘The Royal Tenembaums’. A film that not only humoured and engaged you, but also reminded you of some of the fractured relationships a little closer to home.

Just as you’re about to forgo this week’s offer, you look out your window and see me.

I’ve just pulled up in my trusty Transit, and I’ve even bought you a little pair of Fox ears to wear.

We drive to the cinema car park, discussing at length whether or not Roald Dahl would approve of this Anderson adaptation, knowing full well what he thought of Gene Wilder’s portrayal of Wonka. A crowd pleasing yet unsettling performance, but one a little too rich and Americanised for the late Author’s blood.

Before we enter the cinema, we pop over to Woolworths to stock up on Pick ‘n’ Mix.

You take a couple of strawberry pencils and make pretend walrus tusks out of them, I marvel at your commitment to character. We haven’t even paid for the sweets yet.

We finally get to the Odeon and we’ve forgotten to get drinks.

I head to the counter and return with a Tango Ice Blast, half Raspberry, half Cherry.

“I didn’t even know you could ask for that.” You exclaim.

“Neither did they.” I reply, with a small smirk.

We walk to screen 2, I hold open the door for you, thus beginning our cinematic experience.

After leaving, I drive you back to yours and we listen to the new Arctic Monkeys’ record ‘Humbug’, cover to cover.

We’re both astounded by ‘Crying Lightning’s mention of Pick ‘n’ Mix, having not that long ago been toying with some white chocolate mice ourselves.

You tell me that your birthday is in a few weeks, and you’d love for me to come.

I say “I’ve got a pretty busy couple of weeks ahead, but I’ll see what I can do.”

On the day of your birthday, the party is in full swing. All your family and friends are in the garden, engaged in lighthearted conversation and the laughter is flying thick and fast.

You hear the door bell ring and go to answer it.

Upon opening the door, you see George Clooney stood there, dressed up like a giant fox. He presents you a cake, you blow out the candles and make a wish.

All of a sudden, the sky changes to a shade of lilac and you see a dot in the sky getting bigger.

As it approaches, you recognise the shape.

It’s me in my trusty Transit, with rainbows coming out of the exhaust.

I land it in your garden, get out and open the back of the van.

Out of it pours a barbershop quartet, who serenade you with a doo-wop rendition of Sean Kingston’s ‘Beautiful Girls’.

After a few rousing games of Pin the Tail on the Donkey’, you climb in to the cab of the van and we take off, sky bound.

I turn to you, lower my sunglasses and say; ‘Happy Birthday’.

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