Jamie Goes To The Pictures

One of the most fun aspects of fatherhood is introducing your sprog to "firsts."

Down the line, I look forward to taking Jamie to his first football match, his first rugby match and his first cricket match. He might also demonstrate a willingness to go and see a bit of athletics. Meanwhile, Vanessa might wish to take responsibility for, I don't know, his first ballet show (do they call it a show? Probably not).

However, whilst I wait for him to be old enough to sit through an entire sporting event without disrupting his father's enjoyment, yesterday I accompanied him on his inaugural trip to the cinema.

I'd been thinking about this for some weeks but, after doing a bit of research, struggled to find any kiddie movies which, when added to the trailers, lasted less than two hours.

That was until a few days ago when I discovered a local cinema was holding a special preview showing of Thomas The Tank Engine's big screen debut, "Misty Island Rescue." Stretching a total of 80 minutes including trailers, it seemed perfect. Indeed, the only downside appeared to be that Jamie doesn't really like Thomas (possibly because his father spends most episodes slagging off Ringo "Bloody" Starr - how did he get that gig? Seriously. He can only "do" two voices: 1. Ringo "Bloody" Starr talking normally and 2. Ringo "Bloody" Starr talking in a slightly higher pitch? Ringo? It's bloody wrongo).

Anyway, I bought the tickets online, Vanessa dropped us off and, after 15 minutes queuing for popcorn, we got in just as the trailers were finishing (result) to a room full of screaming kids and bored-looking adults.

With the popcorn as a distraction, Jamie handled the first half hour very well. But, whilst I thought he'd be blown away by "the big TV the size of a house" (as I had described the screen for the past week in an attempt to whip up some enthusiasm), he didn't appear to be that arsed.

And as a result, he spent the subsequent half-hour climbing on me, standing on his chair, throwing popcorn at random mothers, chucking his drink container and singing the theme songs to every kids' TV programme in the Western world - other than Thomas the effing Tank Engine.

The house lights came up not a moment too soon, allowing me to ask the telling questions.

"Did you like Thomas?"

"No."

"Did you like the big TV?"

"No."

Excellent.

We got outside and, bizarrely, found a big, painted, plastic sheep awaiting us - which Jamie promptly mounted.

And, when I finally managed to drag him off it and into the car, there wasn't a single word about Thomas or the big TV. Nope, it was "sheep! sheep! sheep!" all the way.

Perhaps I'll wait until he's a little bit older before taking him back for his next cinema trip. Maybe a nice certificate 18.