‘We’re never going to make it!’

‘Yes we are.’

‘No! We’re not. We’re never going to make it!’

Can you guess what film it is yet? Here’s a clue… It’s not Annie – though funnily enough those words are exactly what the orphan kids say when they’re on their way to Daddy Warbucks’ mansion. I know this because it was on the tele yesterday and I took the opportunity to initiate Lula into the recession beating anthem ‘The sun’ll come out tomorrow’.

Here’s another clue – it’s not Die Hard.

That’s right, you guessed it – it’s not a film. That’s John and I talking. As in hubbie John, not John McClane.

I know, I know, you thought maybe it was Mary Jane to Peter Parker, or it could have been the guy who dies in Touching the Void to the one who doesn’t. But no, those words are in actual fact exchanged between John and I.

We’re discussing the reality that we have only three days to vacate our house and it’s still packed to the rafters with stuff. Namely 3000 records.

Just so you’re clear on who’s who in this screenplay, I’m the one yelling that we’re never going to make it. John’s the John McClane cooler than ice white-vest wearing (anti)-hero looking the alien-led armaggedon in the eye and facing it down with comic one liners (though so far no ‘yippeekayay mother fucker’s).

I am momentarily struck by quite how much of my life is influenced, directed even, by the media I have consumed. And, as you can tell if you are a frequent reader (or if not, just from the first paragraph of this post), my media consumption is not elitist.

As there’s nothing I can do to erase thirty years of bad movies from my inner scriptwriter’s reference library I decide to give in and embrace my inner actress.

‘We’re never going to make it!’ I yell again, channelling a mixture of Marissa from the OC and the Home secretary from Spooks who also used those lines on Wednesday night when Ros failed to rescue him from a room with a ticking bomb.

John asks why I’m freaking out so much.

It gives me pause for thought. There’s a possibility I realise that there is no alien led invasion about to happen and I’m overstating the direness of the straits thanks to my overstimulated imagination. This is not Star Trek. Or Harry Potter. But truthfully, now I’ve started and am in character I feel it is necessary to see it through.

‘Just look!’ I say, ‘Just look at all the crap there still is to move. We’re never going to do it!’ I think about grabbing John by his jacket collar and shaking him for extra effect like Alexis Carrington Colby would do, but he isn’t wearing a shirt so I settle for shouting even louder, ‘We have 3 days. Do you hear me? Three days!’

‘True Dat’ John says.

‘We are not characters from the Wire, John,’ I say in my most patronising voice.

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