With our own latest filming completed earlier that afternoon -- thanks, guys, it's a wrap -- off to the flicks to see how the pros do it. Plenty of parking by Virgin; oops, UGC; sorry, Cineworld. Never quite sure when to pay. Sign says it's free from 6pm. Time now 3:50pm. Two hours is two quid, three hours is three quid: I've got precisely £2.95. You are the responsible adult. Do you:

1. blag 5p from a stranger and pay for the full three hours?
2. pay for two hours now and possibly get stung £40 for 10 uncovered minutes?
3. hang around in the cold with disgruntled children for ten minutes, then pay?

Option 4 was correct: into cinema to wait in queue, choose showing, buy tickets (£16.60! Don't kids get reduced entry? They do? £4.80 for them plus £7 for me -- thank goodness Middler and G. stayed at home), leave kids in foyer to pelt back to car park for 4pm on the dot, pop in two pound coins, take half of stub back to cinema, queue again, claim full refund, then blow this on large white Americano from upstairs at Coffee Republic. All good news for the local economy.

Turn left for screen 5, double checking we're in the right place, else it's SJP in S&TC. Did this myself once: settled down to enjoy hard-hitting Buffalo Soldiers; opening credits finally revealed Legally Blonde 2. Reader, I stayed.

Busy in screen 5. We're sitting smugly on three comfy seats in a row tutting at latecomers. As the ads start to roll, I decide it's a good idea to take The Boy, aka squirrel bladder, to the gents, aka "Leading Men" (copyright Cineworld). That done, out come my pre-packed sandwich bags of Mentos and Starburst. Pay cinema confectionery prices? Not me, no sirree. My little way of sticking it to The Man.

There's a funny short entitled Park Foot Ball, a mildly disappointing Orange mobile ad with Rob "West Wing" Lowe, and some age-inappropriate trailers for Hancock (sleazy Will Smith) and Wanted (gun-totin' James McAvoy). Kung Fu Panda gets some deserved laughs. The Boys leans over to me: when does the film start? Good question.

Whatever happened to no-budget ads for the local Indian or tile shop? Friend of mine told me that when his mates used to go to the pictures, they'd ready themselves for the Pearl and Dean music (ba-ba, ba-ba, ba-ba, ba-ba, da-da-da), wait for the climax, then all hurl a handful of peanuts at the screen. Ah, simpler times.

Oh yeah, the film itself. It's rumoured that the British Board of Film Censors had to go down a couple of point sizes in order to fit on all nine words and fourteen syllables of the clunking title: Indiana Jones blah blah Mythical Sulk. My mistake, that was the most recent Chuckle Brothers tour. Feels good when That Hat first appears and Indy lurches into action. Nevada desert bomb countdown scene is scary. Red ants are nasty.

Good news for me was that I got to see almost all of the action -- The Boy needed just two more (count 'em) toilet trips.

If You Take Away With You Nothing Else

1. lights: for our own humble YouTube efforts, we adhere to the Dogme 95 school
2. camera: our lowly camcorder ran out of battery juice during on-set filming
3. action: ensure your leading man doesn't need a wee, then press record

Be seeing you!

Ed