The Movies.........Cine-Trau-ma

The romance with movies began, and almost ended, in 1979, with the very first trip (Davenport Theatre......but the story of that establishment is for another post). Astoundingly (??!!?**?!) the original, pre-special effects version of 'Spiderman Strikes Back' has not made it into the Ady top five (It is a film which is nigh-on impossible to find on DVD, thus sparing us all! It's only claim to fame was that Spiderman himself  was the fella who played the eldest Von Trapp son in 'The Sound of Music'. Your life is complete at that little snippet of information isn't it now?); but at the age of 6 I couldn't believe what I was witnessing. A huge screen displaying this masked fella in all his spideryness who could crawl up walls???!!!! There was noone in the cinema in a greater state of chair-end perchedness than me I can tell you. The special effects were utter rubbish (dubious usage of cables and winches; not to mention a huge harness secreted under his spidey-suit), but to me it seemed so utterly real. Aaaaaah, the innocence of youth!

Now, back in them there days films had a mid-movie interval. Remember that? Whatever happened to films having a half-time eh? Just enough of a pause to grab a vanilla tub, visit the little boys room (not necessarily in that order), and have a chat with your big sister about what's going to happen in part two. Well......that's what is supposed to happen.....
Big sis Clare patted me on the knee and popped off to the back of the auditorium to pick up said tubs (Lyons Maid....mmmmm; with the obligatory wooden spatulas of course!), leaving me to drink in the mid-movie atmosphere.

Big Sisters Story.........
All was going according to plan until reaching fourth in the queue, when all hell broke loose in the front rows. It was too far away to get a good idea of what was happening, but one thing was for sure, a child down there was letting everyone know in the cinema - and the pub next door, and everyone passing by on the pavement opposite the cinema...you get the idea - they were NOT happy. All Clare could hear was a bout of unbridled, uncontrolled (same thing, I know, Mr Smarty-thesaurus-man), terrified screaming. 'Why can't some people control their children?!!' was all she could think. 'They are brought here when they are clearly not able to sit still without bawling their heads off! Thank heavens Adrian isn't like that; he is having a great time and there's no way you will see him crying like...........that.............hang on............that IS him crying like that!! What the hell happened???!!'

My Story.......
I mean, I ask you; how was I to know the hazards lying in wait for a boy during the simple act of sitting in a cinema? I was only six!! Imagine the confusion in a little boys mind when his seat becomes a monster, flipping up, and in a split second taking his legs from a comfortable nine o'clock, to a squished half past eleven. Noone told me the seats could do that, and this was certainly not the ideal way to find out. So while struggling to free myself, all I could come out with - loudly - was......

'It's eating meeeeeeeeeeeeee..........HEEEEEEEEEELP..............IT'S EEEEEEATIIIIIIIING MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE.............'

And oooooh yes; I remember it all vividly, including the brain-freezing fear at the prospect of slipping through the gap between seat and back-rest into some, horrific cinema stomach. I don't think I have ever screamed so loud before or since!

Mercifully a merciful young man a few seats along the row released me from my predicament and looked after me until a flustered sister came running down the aisle to find out what the hell was going on. I did manage to calm down eventually, but spent the second half of the movie in an even greater state of end-chair-perchedness; this time the reason being much more one of self-preservation than excitement.

After that event, it took a quite a while before risking full-on cinema chair sittage again. The St. Ambrose Primary School organised trip to see Oliver! was next up, and I made sure my feet stayed firmly anchored to the ground!

Between you and me, I do wonder whether this might be the core reason for being overweight. Nothing to do with stress, or self-esteem, or lifestyle; it is purely a case of PTCD (Post Traumatic Cinema Disorder), ensuring that I would never again be light enough for further cinema chair flippage! By George I think I've got it!!