The waiting line for Harry Potter was long and was not moving.  There she was – just in front.  A redhead with beautiful wild tresses carefully brushed out into a long mane stretching down to her generous hips.

I caught a glimpse of a front veranda that would do a ski lodge proud.  There was a complete cub scout troop (perhaps ‘troupe’ – as in ‘trained – barely-trained monkeys’) sheltering under that verandah: keeping out of the wind.

She pivoted gracefully on her knee-high black boots on 4inch heels, her black split tunic/dress revealing a fine pair of black stockinged legs.

WILL YOU BE QUIET ! she screamed at Damien. FOR THE LAST TIME, I WILL GET YOU ONE ONLY CHOCK TOP.  GOT IT ?

Damien looked shocked by the force of the blast.  Traces of still-drying spittle flecked his eyebrows.

(thought bubble)  Oooh Wah.  That was a bit of a massive let down.  I exchanged meaningful glances with the first mate.  And she exchanged a meaningful glance with the lesser Emmlet.  Her glance said “See !  That could happen to you at the drop of a hat anytime I get an unreasonable whingy request !”  I sensed simulteously a loss of ennui – by me and an awakening in Damien of the dreadful power of a grandmother in full cry.  Not the peaches and cream kind of grandmother.  The ‘take no prisoners’ kind.

In an instant, I could see that this siren was in fact a rather well coiffed and immaculately dressed pensioner grandmother with a face that offered George Piggins or Wally Lewis several yards advantage (for Mexicans – that allowed Ron Barrassi to claim the epithet of ‘fine-boned’).  For some reason I was reminded of Keith Richards.

(burst balloon here ….)

The line moved and we all filed into the Erina 8 cinema conmplex.  For those in distant lands, Erina Fair is the third largest mall in the known universe.  The car parks are so large that there is a mini-bus to take you from your car to the collection point for the large bus.  You park somewhere out near the Crab Nebula and time-warp into the shops and entertainment precinct (more on the Text Mex Ribs ‘n Steak later).

There was some utter tripe with no plotline, familiar (overly familiar) cast doing the same old Harry Potteresque stuff with spells, potions, dastardly black evil spirits, Alan Rickman doing his impression of an Afghan hound, an old white-bearded wizard dude, some teenage witches and wizards showing as much limply frustrated sexual interest in each other as Tess of the d’Urbervilles, some pyrotechnics (did I mention the Quiddich game) and repeated clips of Harry looking into ink drops swirled in the white wizard dude’s toilet bowl and somehow seeing into the past.  When I look into the toilet bowl, it’s not a very interesting past, and Harry was certainly experiencing more of the same shite.

So for a family excursion we paid $38 for a C- grade movie with popcorn and bottled water (apologies to the good people of Bungendore.  That’s it !  The Wizard’s name was Bungendore !) we had the added entertainment – in fact the ONLY entertainment of the day – from the Pensioner of Erina.

1/2 Star.