PERFECT PREPARATION?
Four weeks into this #WWWSI Challenge to watch Westerns, drink red wine and consume Wotists, and I'd like to think my preparation by now is a finely tuned, smooth ticking elegant swan of metronomic serenity.
Alas, nothing could be further from the truth as I thrashed around manically like a blind snake in yer Daddy's woodshed (I hope you are enjoying these new turns of phrase, I'm practicing for the return of BRAPA).
Being a 'Friday' instead of 'Sunday' (due to Father's Day commitments) spun my mind into turmoil amidst the buffet prep, DVD loading, photography, hat-finding, dice rolling, wine pouring and other intricacies you probably don't appreciate(!)
We had a 'debutant', a new posh water jug, aimed to remind me to stay hydrated throughout the red wine experience, seeing as last week's 'lining your stomach with milk' plan failed to do anything other than nauseate.
WINE
In my on going quest to 'mix it up' vis-a-vis the grape varieties and countries of origin (I'll be a sommelier by Christmas, don't try to stop me), I opted for a Merlot from Chile. Casillero del Diablo is the name, meaning 'From the Devil's Cellar' which was the winemakers way of stopping thieves stealing the wine, by saying the devil lived in his cellar. How gullible are the Chilean criminal fraternity anyway?
Did I enjoy it? Well yes, a lot more than the sweet Jam Shed last week, but was perhaps a bit on the 'thin' side and a quick chat with Daddy BRAPA makes me think inherited his love for the fuller bodied, chewy, meal in a glass wines. It's how I like my stouts & porters so makes sense I guess. NWSS 3.75. Sister BRAPA is a fan though but she'll probably drink anything vegan.
I liked the bottle cos it had a raised devil logo you could push, but sadly it didn't laugh or set my flat on fire or anything cool.
Drunk already?
WOTSITS
I rolled a '5' - five bags is the most I've had to date, and I managed them a lot easier than last week, though only needed one small bread roll with the buffet, which in turn, was a big improvement on last week's Four Cheese Pizza and four bags of Wotsits catastrophe!
Capri-Sun was never utilised. Lack of 'spread' for bread/crackers was a mistake.
All set! Off we go.
WESTERN
I rolled a (lower) 23 on my 30-sider, which meant we slid all the way down to film 50, having been in the 20's for the first three weeks.
You'd be forgiven for thinking this film was destined to be a considerable step down in quality. But no, my league table is all skewed, and 50th place is like being 'top of the second division', and has much higher review ratings than all the films up to about 25th.
For a Few Dollars More gave a WWWSI debut for Clint Eastwood, director Sergio Leone, and the amazing, atmospheric music of Ennio Morricone - Father BRAPA has a CD of the music somewhere we listen if he's driving me to places like Workington and Whitehaven, very apt.
This film didn't mess about, all action from the start, tonnes of shooting, probably the most Westerny Western to date. Moved a bit too quick for me in truth, due to my slow mind, and took me ages to identify the baddie 'El Indio' by his face, meaning I'd be a terrible Bounty Hunter. Probably wine induced, but the plotting in the middle of the film confused me like a cyclops staring into a kaleidoscope (or something).
It was quality stuff though. It had so many BRAPA echoes, from the very start where Clint pulls the emergency stop lever on the train a bit late, and a Tom Irvin style dude nearly gets a bullet to the head for telling him "this isn't a request stop mate".
In town, he heads straight for the bar (good lad), the White Lion in Sawley is comparable, and gets the local gen, and 'ticks' off a couple of easy 'hits' to claim his money. But from an upstairs window, the perma-piped Lee Van Cleef (think Martin Taylor or Duncan Mackay) is looking down at him from a window of the cheapest B&B in town in a "I got there before you" kind of way, and Clint has to swallow his pride and team up with him to get the difficult 'El Indio' tick (think Ty Coch in North Wales in pub terms). Wish his gun had been fluorescent green.
Clint was ace, but the distracting bright pashmina/poncho he wore throughout made me think he was about to phone the girls and nip to a Surrey Ember Inn for a few proseccos, leaving the Twilds at home, McCann style (Madeline, not Grant).
There was even a bit of banking, someone shady tried to deposit a large sum of money in cash and the bank manager pretty much just agreed, with no security checks, ID, money laundering thoughts, it offended my banking sensibilities.
An eight year boy old slut-shamed the town whore (hashtag toxic masculinity), then we had a bank heist, a rape suicide, and a pocket watch that played a lovely little tune, and it all ended well from what I can remember.
ANY OTHER BUSINESS?
Two new followers to bring us up to 25, so I'd like to extend a warm welcome to Dave "The Damned" Southworth and Roger "Ranch Handler" Protz. I've met both in real life, drank in pubs with both, and they are lovely chaps so delighted to have them on board.
Next week's film is #20 in the league, 'Butch Cassidy & the Sundance Kid'. Not decided on the day, wine or Wotsit consumption yet, but will post it on Twitter later this week.
Take care Amigos, Si
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