It is two years today since I proposed to Tiki. Foggy skies cleared to a nice shade of blue. As I walked to work between St Peters and Marrickville, jets’ engines were seen to leave cylindrical trails of vapour as the aeroplanes passed low overhead on their approach to the international airport, which is named in honour of the aviator, Sir Charles Kingsford Smith.
At half past ten conditions were gloriously sunny and calm, however, by lunchtime it looked as if we would receive a thunderstorm. Tiki drove to the parking station in Kent Street and in the Hoyts Cinema Centre bought two tickets, at a cost of three dollars and seventy-five cents each. These would enable us to view its screening of “Star Wars”, that was scheduled to commence at ten past five, in Cinema 7.
Upon our arrival we purchased two cappuccinos at fifty cents each from the Stage Delicatessen. Mine, for a time, made me feel somewhat unwell. We were seated at an ‘outdoor’ table, talking about the construction of our side fence when I mentioned the “bolts” and it suddenly dawned on Tiki that she had left them on her desk at work. She is going to get her mother to drive her there in the morning to collect them.
The film, “Across The River”, which contains old footage of Melbourne, was screened prior to intermission; at which time I paid forty cents for a packet of crisps, at Tiki’s request.
“Star Wars” only opened in Sydney on the twenty-seventh of October, that is, yesterday week. Although the cinema was only half full at the beginning of the session, it had filled to capacity by the time the main feature commenced.
We were surrounded by mothers and their young children, in spite of the fact the film possesses a NRC rating. Nonetheless, everyone seemed to thoroughly enjoy the picture. The young boy seated to my immediate right did not bat an eyelid when some scary creatures appeared on the screen. If I had been shown them at his age I would have experienced nightmares for months to come!
It just goes to show how conditioned the young are to such scenes nowadays. Either that or I was just a scaredy-cat!
Whilst the film possesses the rating: Not Recommended for Children, in my opinion, it is puerile! Still, I have to give credit where I believe it is due and, therefore, I must admit that I could only gaze upon its special effects in wonderment. Only the performances of Alec Guinness and Peter Cushing (he looks frail — not that he has ever looked particularly robust — and quite wan) are worthy of mention.
At a quarter to eight we crossed George Street to eat at McDonald’s. Two fillet-o-fish burgers cost seventy-five cents each, an orange juice, thirty-five and a white coffee, thirty. The coffee was all that Tiki wanted. A lady had tried to push in front of me at the counter, but I merely uttered: “Excuse me, madam…” and gave my order.
Tiki and I sat close together and reminisced about the events of this very evening, two years ago. We presented the stubs of our cinema tickets at the parking station and received a discount of fifty cents on the parking fee of three dollars and ten cents. I drove home by nine o’clock via Newtown, O’Riordan Street and Botany Bay as we listened to Sam Gallea play such records as Rod Stewart’s hit of two years ago, “Sailing”, and Emma Hannah’s revival of “Angel Of The Morning”, which, he claims, is as good as Merrilee Rush and The Turnabouts’ success of 1968.