The film was called The Rescuers.

My first ever cinema trip was when I were about six, as it was in the very cold December of 1983. I don’t have much to thank my dad for to be honest. He did introduce me to John Holt and Liverpool FC. Two things there. The third (and probably last) was taking me the flicks for Christmas.

It was a long, giddy and exciting eight-minute walk to The Concorde Cinema on Stapleton Road back in Brizzle. I remember it seemed a huge place with velvet reds, purples and greens. People everywhere. Tea, cakes, torches and ice creams. I was a little baffled by the waist coated man ripping up our tickets literally minutes after Daddy bought them from a waist coated man in a boxed office.

Hand in hand we walked into the dark cinema screen. Wonderful. It did stink though, and the seats were sticky and rotting and uncomfortable. But I didn’t care. When that huge screen lit up my big (for a six year old) round face, I forgot about everything else.

The film blew me away. Especially Orville the albatross, who ran the airline service wearing his goggles and scarf. He used a sardine tin for his passengers to sit in.

Leaving, apparently I told me dad I wanted to join the Rescue Aid Society and I kinda liked Miss Bianca.

The next film I watched was Masters Of The Universe. Don’t want to talk about that one. It wasn’t great.

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