Last night, we took the time to go and see “The Force Awakens”, which is a new Star Wars film. I mention that in case you missed the scant coverage it has got in the media, on Facebook etc.
So, how to do it? Well, obviously it takes planning to attend such a film.
A few years ago, there was an incident where a cinema in the chain we were visiting banned a patron from taking a Big Mac in, on the basis that ‘hot food is a hazard”.
Clearly, it’s hard to get a Big Mac that is actually hot, and ‘food’ is stretching it a bit as well, but nevertheless, they might well object to a litre of scalding hot tea in a vacuum flask, so we handled this by hiding it in Lady Devotea’s handbag.
We also packed two takeaway cups of the cardboard ripple kind, some sugar sachets for Lady D and a spoon for the stirrage thereof.
But what tea? The Star Wars franchise is at the lower end of sci-fi. It’s spaghetti western set in space, no thinking required. It needs a bold tea. We settled on Nilgiri Craigmore.
We suffer from the milk dilemma. When it come to milk, I am entirely given over to the dark side. No milk for me. And yet Lady Devotea insists on it. She walks in the light.
I made a split second decision to compromise in the time-honoured way that husbands do, and just do it her way.
It did help that the milk in question is a new one that, if in Australia, you should try. It’s name in Paul’s Farmhouse gold, it’s unhomogenised as real milk should be (or shouldn’t be , if you get my meaning and avoid the double negative) and it’s labelled: EXTRA CREAM: CREAM ON TOP which gives the thing the air of Monty Python’s Mr Creosote.
So, thermos flask full of Nilgiri Craigmore, topped up with creamy milk. Off we go.
Due to a mishap in reading the times, we arrived for a 3D showing and had to pay extra. However, this was offset by the fact that we had our own refreshments, and so saved the standard cinema cost of a choc ice, popcorn and a drink, which I think they had at a Tuesday special price of $1,342,564 plus your first child.
Anyway, it’s best to wait until the lights go down to start dishing out the tea. I’m not sure if cinema ushers even exist any more, but the last think you need is some spotty faced junior Stasi officer shining a light in your eyes and demanding to know what that suspicious looking ziplock bag in your hand is.
The film started with some nastiness on a desert planet, and as the softer tones of the Craigmore were being obscured by the fact the tea was blisteringly hot, the whole thing fitted together well.
If you get your timing right, you reach the end of the first cup just as one of the characters is finishing a meal, and so you can share the longing wish that there was more in the cup.
So, do the maths. 250ml cups, two people: there’s one cup left each. Working on bladder control theory, and the fact that the film is 135 minutes long, that means the last cup should be served around the 105 minute mark.
My tip is, as soon as two characters are having a confrontation on a narrow bridge, pour. The same holds true for so many movies.
The triumphant feeling near the end of every such movie and the last sip of rich, dark tea go together well: the dark tea and the light milk in perfect balance.
So, I give the tea 5 stars. The film was quite good as well.
AT A GLANCE:
FILM: Star Warsy, has ‘droids, light sabres, good guys and bad guys and explosions.
THE CINEMA COMPANION: Adorable
THE CUP HOLDERS: Slightly too big for a takeaway cup, so be careful
THE EXPERIENCE IN ONE LINE: A welcome respite from Christmas.