Is it wet out there or is it just me?

Ah, the Great British Bank Holiday Weekend. In true British fashion, we tried to defy the weather as much as possible. We went to a garden centre on Sunday. In the rain. Came home, tried out the new gas barbecue. In the rain. The gas bbq sat in boxes on the floor of the garage for nine months. Then my husband finally took it out to put it together. Three weeks and much fussing and fuming later, it's set to go. Women would just get on with it. But he found a new favourite hardware store, the Flying Dutchman, and a new buddy, the owner of the Flying Dutchman.

Today, my husband flew to NYC, and I took the kids to the cinema. Everybody took their kids to the cinema. Why did I think I was unique? So we participated in that other Great British Bank Holiday tradition: queuing. First, it was queuing for a parking space. I politely and patiently waited for an idiot to figure out how to back out only to have some young whippersnapper swoop in and take my place. So back around I went until I found a space. I warned the kids it would be a murder scene if someone took my space again. Then we had to queue for the tickets. Then we had to queue for the snacks. Then three hours later when the Pirates of the Caribbean saga had finally finished (and I'd had my half-hour nap), we had to queue at five restaurants. Then I got the idea to drive two minutes to somewhere else. And no queues. Heaven!!

Back to the Pirates of the Caribbean. Here are my thoughts on the film:

1. Everybody but Keira Knightley and Orlando Bloom has really rotten teeth.

2. I don't think Keith Richards needed any makeup or costumes for his role.

3. Keith Richards is a better actor than Keira Knightley.

4. Why do pirates all seem to have Bristollian accents?

5. I think it's time they moved on to some other Disney ride to create another movie franchise. They've done Haunted Mansion. Maybe the Riverboat.

On the way to the cinema, I checked that my son had indeed changed his clothes. He likes to wear the same clothes day after day after grass-stained day. My husband and dad are the same way. They change their underwear daily, and they don't smell. But they either lack imagination or like the familiarity of the same old clothes.