I'd like to start on a rare sincere note whilst I'm in whimsical mood, and let you all know what a tonic this #WWWSI venture has been in a year which has times felt a bit like a prison sentence. In lockdown, one of my favourite times of the week!
In a strange sort of way, it has allowed me to broaden my horizons. Westerns are a film genre I've always suspected I like without really exploring it, red wine is similar in terms of drink, and I find it lot more 'rewarding' than a piddly can of IPA by some vague Scottish brewery. Drinking beer at home, depressing. Drinking red wine at home, ding dong doo. And food wise, probably not talking Wotsits here, but I've experimented with different types of grub. It transpires life ain't all turkey dinsoaurs, baked beans and chips.
Let us welcome our 46th follower, a French lady called Abigail Agrrey. I've sampled that many French wines recently, I suppose a French follower was inevitable. Not sure if she is related to Jimmy Agrrey who wiped out Neil Mann in front of us at Plainmoor, for Johnny Eyre to beat Neville Southall with a 'Panenka' penalty (0-1 win), which in 2000 was known as a Johnny Eyre penalty way before kids watched Youtube videos from 1976, Twitter football scum. Anyway, welcome Abigail.
On with the Action
A rare Friday night allowed me start much later than usual, as any hangover would be of no consequence.
My first action was to roll a '2' on the Wotsit front, meaning I've rolled a grand total of 4 in the last 3 weeks, which is mad after all those consecutive 5's. Does my dice not have a 3 or 4?
After the surprisingly successful foray into the world of Giant Wotsits, I stuck with them and weighed out hopefully an exact 33g (16.5 x2) measure.
Food-wise, I was back to what the Twitter football kids (scum) call the GOAT (Greatest of All Time), the buffet. I put half a crusty loaf of giraffe bread in the oven for added sustenance, but couldn't eat it all.
Unfortunately, a few Sainsbury's substitutes meant I didn't quite get exactly what I wanted, but the Gouda, Boursin, Paramgiano-Reggiano, Olives, Tomatoes, Chorizo and Prosciutto had me purring like an overripe kitten before kick off.
Wine is Party Time
Whilst the giraffe bread warmed up, it was time to give the latest 'Uncle Matt' release a spin, a mixtape recorded on a familiar TDK from my early punk days 1997-2000 introducing Mexican style tunes from Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass.
Note the stickers. I am going to stick these on my face when I get even drunker than tonight.
It was less moody than the Western / Hallowe'en albums, but Mexicans often knock about in these films, so it worked in a surprising way. And by gum, two or three of the tunes were instantly recognisable, probably from TV/adverts etc. Didn't expect that! Love it.
Something was missing. Of course, the wine! This week, I went for Garnacha, a Spanish wine originally more famously known as Grenache since those bleedin' froggies took it over (no offence Abigail). Wanna see a Spaniard looking smug whilst making it?
My book stuck loyal to the Spanish origins, so I did the same and even found one specifically recommended in my book by 'Kevin':
Interesting wine, in that on an empty stomach, I was loving it. Full bodied, strong, peppery, my kinda style. But the more the buffet went down, the less convincing it became. Wrong food pairing? (Still not convinced food pairings are a 'thing' but weird anyway).
I donned my new blue blazer (not the pub in Edinburgh) I'd recently bought from French Connection (cheers Abigail) in the Black Friday sales, and got into the mood.
Anyway, another one ticked off the list and now we are in the second half of the alphabet, grape-wise.
Time to take everything through to the main room, where Daddy Wotsit (who'd been round for a football match two days earlier) reminded me I could actually dim my lights! Only lived here 13 years, I think I'm the only dim one around here.
Released in 1943, The Ox-Bow Incident (#51) is the oldest Western I've watched to date, but with some surprisingly progressive moments, probably enough to keep it relevant to a woke 2020 audience.
Having said that, it didn't convince me quite as much as the recent Lone Star or El Dorado, despite it's #51 ranking and 90% approval rates from both critics and audience.
It started off with Henry Fonda and a dude called Dana (not the Israeli who won Eurovision) riding into a town, not sure why, so we are must assume they were here to tick off the two GBG pubs, the Darby Hotel and the Pioneer.
The local drunkard chatting to the guv'nor above has a bit of a skirmish with Henry Fonda, but that's just for giggles, as a band of locals rush in and say one of their men has been murdered up in t'hills!
They are all over-excited and het up and wanna form a posse, but the sheriff is out of town so it'd be unlawful says the old dudes, but some surly young bugger decides he's making himself deputy and making his own rules. Henry Fonda and Dana International have misgivings, but they aren't local so no one cares, so they ride along with the posse just for the craic.
They are joined by a black dude who is supposed to be there to do music, jokes and prayers, but he is more wise than they give him credit for. And then this bulky older lady jumps on a horse, and says she's coming too, sarcastically sneering at the blokes for being useless (she's right as it happens) a bit like a 40's Jo Brand.
Film only really grabs my attention when they get to an Ox-Bow lake (remember your GCSE geography kids?) and call me psychic, but I am sure an 'incident' is going to occur.
It does! They find three blokes with the dead man's horses so decide to string 'em up without a trial. Six of them protest this is wrong, but the loud majority get their way. Of the trio, one is a Mexican with a thin moustache (rendering my Herb Alpert sesion worthwhile) so he looks like a baddy. The old guy has this sort of comedy dementia. And the third, you can tell he's not lying by the way he conducts himself, writes a note to his wife (his dying wish), but the mob don't believe him.
I'm sure he's gonna be spared but then they hang them all from a tree. Wow!
Then, they catch up with the Sheriff and say 'aren't we good, we got the baddies' and the sheriff is like 'errm no you bunch of turnips, our bloke was never even killed, and the baddies are long gone, so you killed three innocent men you fools.'
Oh dear! Epic fail. They all go back to the Darby Hotel and drink silently til the film ends which is a bloody relief by then.
So all in all, an enjoyable evening. Film picked up, wine got harder, food was great, giant wotsits truly are fantastic. See you this coming Thursday (3rd Dec) on Twitter for Week 22 where I'll be watching High Plains Drifter (#69), eating steak, drinking Malbec (how common darling!) and eating an as yet undecided portion of Wotsits.
Take care, Si