A first. A terrible first. Even by my inattentive standards.

As MM knows well, I all too frequently don't manage to enjoy the entirety of a play or film. And this only rarely bothers me.

I still regret a small nap during Enron (and don't - you must never - tell my aunt). But I have no regrets about napping during Simon Callow and someone else held in high esteem in tardy Godot. In fact, I am often happy to nap. Did even Siobhan nap during Time and the Conways?

Obligingly, with some sort of weird internal instinct, I usually seem to wake up in time for the ending. Only a very few times have I had to question my fellow theatre / cinema goer about what went on to happen.

But last night (o for heaven!), I missed the ending for a dark new reason.

Dinner.

Wine was consumed.

The cinema.

The Bling Ring.

Wine was consumed.

And indeed, this maybe even enhanced my enjoyment of Sofia Coppola's lovely eye for adolescence. She is particularly good at presenting the sun-drenched carefree Young, it seems to me.

But last (dark) night, aesthetic appreciation alone wasn't enough to grip my attention. AA plus Emma Watson was not enough to grip and hold my attention.

Or maybe, they just weren't enough to over-ride the siren seduction of many many LPCOWW.

For if you were to threaten me with a fate worse than eating eighty-five creme brûlées in quick succession, I could not tell you what happened at the end of the film.

I was not asleep.

No.

I was drunk, boys and girls. Just drunk.

The valuable lesson is: don't drink and vue.

Even the popcorn won't save you.