…I may get to the cinema this evening. I'm in the process of having a stone floor laid in my kitchen but, assuming all goes reasonably well with that (and what can go wrong? ha!), Cinderella will go to the cinema.
You may remember that I couldn't decide whether to see Sherlock Holmes: A Game of Shadows or J Edgar. So what am I seeing this evening (floor permitting)? That's right. War Horse.
This probably isn't a wise move. I can still be reduced to tears when I remember something that happened - well, a lot of years ago. I was about nine or ten years old and adored my cousin's pony. My cousin didn't have time for him, and he was too old to do much, so I spent my spare time with him. One day, I arrived home from school to the news that he'd gone back to his real owners in Ireland. To say I was upset is putting it mildly but he wasn't mine so there was nothing I could do about it.
There's worse to come. There's also a tip for parents: If you're planning to tell one child a lie, make sure you tell the other the same lie.
A few days later, I was at the dinner table with my parents and my sister. I was talking about my wonderful four-legged friend and hoping he was all right. My sister, five years older, said with all the tact of an Exocet missile: "But he's been put down."
"He hasn't!" I cried. I looked from her to my mother, and then to my father. From the shocked, somewhat panicked expressions, I knew. I raced from that dinner table to my bedroom, hurled myself on my bed and cried and cried and cried. I was inconsolable.
Eventually, when I was coherent enough to say anything, I demanded to know why I'd been lied to. My mother said: "Just look at the state you're in. No one can say anything to you because you're too sensitive for your own good."
Hmm. Many, many years on, I'm not so sure about that. I do think that a good long conversation about my lovely friend wanting to join all the other happy horses in those wonderful green fields in the sky might have been a better option for a nine-year-old.
So if I get to the cinema this evening, I'll be watching this:
Set against a sweeping canvas of rural England and Europe during the First World War, War Horse begins with the remarkable friendship between a horse named Joey and a young man called Albert who tames and trains him. When they are forcefully parted, the film follows the extraordinary journey of the horse as he moves through the war, changing and inspiring the lives of all those he meets - British cavalry, German soldiers, and a French farmer and his granddaughter - before the story reaches its emotional climax in the heart of No Man's Land.
It's that emotional climax that concerns me...
No spoilers, please! But if you've seen it, how many boxes of tissues do you think I'll need?