The Joy of a Solo Cinema Date

My old life was hard. I got bored with counting all the ways in which I was struggling. There was a point where I threw it all up in the air to see what landed. And amongst all the shattered pieces I found sharp, delightful, shards of joy.

I am at a cinema on my own, in the middle of the day. Joy.

I have dressed up for my date. I admire myself before I leave. I have become quite the dandy eccentric. Fake fur, swaggering boots and an oversized cocktail ring. It’s funny that I know no one else will notice these details. The joy of middle age. Quirky invisibility.

It is an independent cinema. The décor is hard-edged, contemporary and clean. But also comfortable enough to spend the day there. There is a café where I have a pot of peppermint tea, whilst I tap at my laptop. I people watch. Everyone has a lap top in a café these days. Sometimes it works like headphones on a train, it blocks out the other life forms. Sometimes the lap top sits between two people who glance at the screen. I imagine that it acts like a shield against flirting. Keeping it professional. I have made my word count and jotted some ideas. I have looked busy.

Then I go up one flight of stairs to have my lunch full of ingredients I didn’t know about most of my life, like quinoa, halloumi, vegan bacon. All of the dishes Instagram ready. And because this is a day of joy, I have a glass of red wine. A big glass of fruity tannin sin. The staff know me. They finish my order for me. They bring me my glass of sin and smile.

The windows are large and I watch the world beneath me. I can see them, but they can’t see me. I take notes of shoving young men, of young women eating lunch on the move, of a couple struggling to share an umbrella.

I rush from lunch to the cinema, up another flight of stairs. It is small and cosy, like a Hollywood mansion’s viewing room. Projector behind me. There are three of us in there. We sit well away from each other. We barely nod in recognition.

There is a curious delight in being a woman on her own in public spaces. Taking up my space in the world. A table at a café. A seat in a cinema. Nobody to tend to. No conversation to oil. Just me in my own space away from the tyranny of my phone. Luxury. Joy.

I like company, because I am good at it. Ergo, I like my own company. What’s not to like? I can have incredible conversations about the film, opinions and discussions batted back and forth like swingball on a summer day.

Does the film matter?

Sometimes it consumes me whole. I am swallowed up in my seat and I am part of the action.

Sometimes, I am on a train journey, looking through the window, taking in the scenery. I nod in approval but dream my own dreams.

Sometimes, I can just put it down to experience. No need to write about a film I didn’t enjoy. I still got to sit in a warm room and let someone try to entertain me.

Today, I was impressed by the intensity of performances, but unfulfilled by a stodgy story. There was a mood. There was an arid colour palette. There was a great sound track. I was lulled when, maybe, I should have been frightened.

And then there is the magic of leaving a cinema and finding daylight outside. I smiled at the cheek of it all, enjoying myself in the middle of the day. The rain had stopped and I made my way home. Full of smug joy.

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