colinr0380 wrote:And all these stories illustrate why you should never pick up and eat popcorn you might have dropped on a theatre floor!
Talking of floors... anxious to impress my new girlfriend (now wife) many years back when still a student in London I was waxing lyrical about Roeg's 'Don't look now'.
"Ooh, I like the sound of that", she replied and so a copy of Time Out and a tube journey later we ran into a cinema near Victoria station and eagerly took our seats with seconds to spare. Such was our hurry I didn't pay too much attention to the fact that the numerous male ushers were all built like brick shit-houses and that the carpet looked and felt like crystallised tarmac to walk over.
We took our seats in a pretty crowded house and the film started immediately. The print was in tatters and looked like it had been retrieved from a Turkish wrestler's jockstrap on a greasy day. Worse, there was just a minimal click and glitsch track where there was presumably once words.
Our eyes were still glued to the screen in the hope that either projectionist or providence would intervene when a manic rustling followed by what sounded like a gargling vacuum cleaner came from behind. Whirling round the 'ssssh' already forming between clenched teeth I came face to face with a weasel faced middle aged man sucking violently on a plum, which he held in his right hand. An unnecessary detail you might think, until an eye jump across revealed that his left hand was busily jerking off a vacuous looking youth staring gormlessly at the screen. Once more the right hand delved into the brown paper bag containing the plums. And nestling next to the bag was the head of another young Ganymede giving the plum-sucker a blow job.
Eyes now swivelling like conning towers it dawned on us that similar antics were underway in most of the rows.
The mystery of the consistency of the carpet now explained we made our excuses and left.
