I’m coming out of the closet regarding choice of films

Despite the media efforts to get me interested, I didn’t really care who was the father of Bridget Jones’ baby.

You know who I mean, the character dreamt up by Helen Fielding who featured in a best-selling chic-lit novel which was turned into a global film blockbuster smash hit. And then another. And now a third.

SWMBO simply loved the first two BJ films. So when the publicity bandwagon for BJ3 started rolling out, I knew it was only a matter of time before I faced pressure to organise a trip to our local cinema.

I held out for just over a week, hoping it would have proved unpopular and been pulled from the schedule. No such luck.

We went this week to see it. And it was good. Not in a Gladiator or Spectre way but good nonetheless.

I never want to see Mama Mia either. But it was fantastic. Nor did I wish to while away a couple of hours watching John Travolta in drag – but Hairspray was magnificent.

And then there was Les Mis. I thought I’d rather pull my finger nails out with a rusty pair of pliers than watch what I thought was a depressing story. But I was wrong again.

I have proved to myself that, even in one’s autumn years, it is always worth trying something as you never know, you might actually like it.

Update on last blog: A Tesco money card for the awful wine arrived within days and has been used already. For another, but different, red wine box.

However, I am still waiting to get my replacement pressure washer hose. Despite having provided the necessary information about the purchase to Lidl on two separate occasions (they clearly don’t actually read customer emails) and to the maker (Lidl obviously don’t pass on pertinent information onto suppliers).