So today I'm joining a platoon of her friends on a bus, and we're all going to the Weta studios in Miramar in Wellington.
For those not in the know, Weta studios are where Sir Peter Jackson started all his special effects and model making for Lord of the Rings, and I'm actually quite looking forward to the visit.
My beloved's friends are mostly in their 80s and 90s, and going on a trip can bring back memories of Napoleon's Retreat from Moscow, or Dien Bien Phu or even my honeymoon (see earlier posts) with beleaguered representatives of the once-great British Empire struggling with the natives, the weather and of course struggling with their Zimmers.
I shudder in anticipation of some of the questions I *know* they'll be asking.
"Where's Olivia De Haviland?"
"Where did you make the model of Atlanta burning for Gone With The Wind?"
"Did you actually sink the Titanic?", closely followed by "It wasn't accurate you know, my stateroom had red curtains"
and then the questions by those partly aware of what is really going on.
|Wrong director you idiot. Actually the wrong country.|
"Where's the Death Star?"
"Can I try on a Storm Troopers Helmet?"
"Can you make me sound like Darth Vader?" (only if old Darth has developed a Kiwi accent and a bad case of emphysema)
Not all of the party are gaga, there's some lovely people in the group, and I hope they can restrain their more confused friends from doing inappropriate things or shouting.
My favourite from the last time (a visit to Trentham races) was the scream from the back of the bus "Oh My God, I forgot to close the blackout curtains". To be fair, this was on the way back home, and quite a few Brandy and Sodas had been imbibed, but a miasma of gentle confusion permeates the group, and I'll swear it's contagious.
Why else would I have forgotten that I'd promised to drive them all to their own homes after the bus had dropped us off, and had instead drunk so much beer and whisky that my beloved (who is almost teetotal) had to drive them herself?
We're supposed to be going for a tea after the tour of the studios and I'll have to resign myself in advance to the 3 hour queue at the toilets, and the obligatory bruised ankles from shakily applied Zimmer knocks, but I'll be having a good time.
I know that I'll be having a good time because my beloved has said so.
Quod Erat Demonstrandum