I only have myself to blame

Okay.

I have a confession to make.

First up, this post is proof that I have no shame.

Anyway, there I was earlier in the week, competely over winter, pretty much sick of myself and just a teensy bit bored.

A film! I thought. I would take myself off to a film. It's a great way to put your head into another world when you're feeling like that.

But then, what to go to?

And here is where I start mumbling and looking at my feet.

See here's the thing. I had decided, based purely on the name of this film, that I was not going to to go.

But then I read a few things around the interweb written by people who had (pretty much) the same attitude as me, but admitted they'd had a rolicking good time. And then two very close friends also told me that this film was a bit of a hoot. One of them saw it at one of those fancy viewings and drank champagne throughout it and the other headed straight to a champagne bar after it, having being put in SUCH good spirits. They also raved about where is was set.

'Pah' I scoffed, you won't see me going to any film that's titled, 'Mamma Mia'.

But then, about half way through this week, desperate for some upliftion (my new word), my resolve faltered.

How bad could it be? I asked myself. Surely I could suffer through a few Abba songs in return for a piece of brainless entertainment in a glorious setting? (Insert all manner of other justifications here, ie it's got Julie Walters, always loved her since Educationg Rita etc etc.)

So that is how I found myself buying a ticket to Mamma Mia on Wednesday night.

I walked into the theatre, the air was thick with the smell of wine and I was just a little disturbed by the amount people who were there. There were far too many people in the theatre for a six o'clock viewing. And if there was a reasonable amount of wine going to be consumed, I suspected they were going to be enjoying it just a leettle too much for my cynical old self.

But anyway, I took my seat and settled in for the next ninety minutes, or so I thought.

The titles rolled and the first scene was shot on a jetty on some beautiful Greek beach. And yes it was truly stunning. There was a bit much female screaming for my liking but I thought I could stomach it.

Until.

They.

Burst.

Into.

Song.

And it slowly dawned on me.

Mamma Mia is a musical.

NO ONE TOLD ME THAT IT WAS A FUCKING MUSICAL.

I HATE MUSICALS WITH A PASSION.

I would rather do my tax return, without a calculator, than go to a musical. My version of Hell has musicals playing twenty-four hours a day.

So I sat there as my brain tried to process this information.

It went something like this.

GET ME OUT OF HERE!
You've just paid $14, at least give it a try.
GET ME OUT OF HERE!
Maybe you should give it a few more minutes to see if you might like it.
I AM ONLY STAYING IF, IN THE NEXT TWO MINUTES,SOMEONE TURNS UP WITH A GUN AND KILLS AT LEAST HALF THE CAST .
Lighten up, it could be just one song.
TWO MINUTES ARE UP, IF YOU DON'T LEAVE NOW I SHALL START SCREAMING, LOUDLY.
Look, when was the last time you saw a musical? You may surprise yourself.
HEY LOGIC, IF YOU DON'T SHUT UP REALLY QUICKLY I WILL SLAP YOU. HARD.

I lasted fifteen minutes, counting the previews.

Mental note to self:always, in future, read about what the film is about before committing to it.