Scary Movie

Went with my friends to see Still Alice last night.

Julienne Moore won an Oscar for her portrayal of a 50 year- old with early Alzheimer’s. I could have been nominated too, - as most hysterical middle aged viewer.

Lyn was with us – she’d broken her leg tripping over the dog three days before. A determined old gal, she insisted on coming. Lyn, as unscheduled entertainment, hopped along on her crutches and collapsed in the fourth row, propping her plaster cast leg up on the seat in front.

The film started. I suddenly panicked-

Had I in fact collected a ticket from the multi-storey car park?

If so, where the hell was it now?

If lost, how were we going to get out, especially with hop-along in tow?

Why, oh why, did I choose this bloody film about memory loss in the first place?

I rummaged in my cavernous handbag, and frantically searched pockets. Nothing.

“Why are you fidgeting?” asked Lyn. 

“Cos I’ve got Alzheimer’s!” I wanted to scream .Trying to calm down, I watched the film. We got to the bit when Alice takes the memory test.

“I am now going to give you a name, and a two line address which you will repeat after me and memorise,” said the on-screen doctor.” In a few minutes I will ask you for the name and address again.”

 I muttered the details to myself, concentrating hard. And then the bit came when Julianne Moore had to repeat them. She couldn’t remember. My turn. I started with name and first line and-

“COULDN’T REMEMBER THE REST!”  

The rest of the film was a miserable, scary premonition of what I’d convinced myself I might become.

Lights on, I dashed out as the credits rolled, and scrabbled outside on the carpet with all my handbag contents strewn in front of me.

“What on earth are you doing?” asked Sara, contemplating my tear- stained face as she hauled me up. 

Sure enough, as the others were insisting, the ticket was in the money dip of my car. “ Bet you couldn’t remember that name and address either!” I cheerily asked Sara who was leaning into the window to say goodbye to hop along.

She repeated it perfectly.

“Get lost.” I said, driving off...

Jane Austen meets Marquis de Sade

Last night we had to do an exercise. “Jane Austen meets Marquis de Sade.” We read the first part of Pride and Prejudice, had to substitute the arrival of Mr Bingley with the arrival of the Duc de Blangis, a character from Marquis de Sade’s 120 Days of Sodom, “built like a satyr, endowed with a monstrous member and prodigious strength.” Our lecturer reminded us of the tensions between France and England in the 18th century.
We then had 20 minutes to write the next chapter in Austen’s  book – Here is what I wrote.

“Lawks, a real French Duke in our midst!” exclaimed Mrs Bennett, fanning herself furiously as she sank back in her chair.

Mr Bennett raised a weary eyebrow “Yes, my dear but there is, how shall I say this, a delicate matter of entente cordiale.”

“Yes, yes, we must get all the cordials that we can muster. And cook, yes, cook must busy herself with the latest French recipes.”

“I do believe the French are fond of snails, my dear.” Mr Bennett teased his wife mercilessly.

“Snails, snails you say. Surely not! Ah well, if it must be, it must be, but I shall certainly not partake of those delicacies myself.”

“My dear, you are aware, are you not of the perilous political situation in France at the moment? Have you considered why the Duke de Blangis is gracing us with his presence?”

“Well, it’s obvious of course. He must be royalty, fleeing from those awful revolutionaries!”

“And if he were not?”

“Piffle, my dear, these things are not important. What is, is that the dear Duke at eighteen is a master of a colossal fortune. And our girls, thanks to our unfortunate family circumstances, are not. We must arrange French lessons for the girls as soon as possible and dress them in the latest French lace. They must dance in France; we need to know the steps! I shall find a suitable dancing teacher acquainted with French reels at once!"

“If I have heard correctly, the Duke de Blangis has other, quite particular tastes that I feel we might not meet. Indeed I do not think it would be at all circumspect or decent to ask further or pander to his whims in any way.”

“Pander! Of course we must pander! To get our girls married we must do whatever it takes!”