don’t be scared, it’s only a cinema…

Houses are like people. They have facades. What you find on the inside is not necessarily what you see on the outside. I went to the cinema, once, and got lost on my way out. Instead of ending up where I came in, by the brilliantly lit ticket hall and popcorn counter, I found myself in a large, deserted courtyard. It was odd. I’d gone from a packed auditorium, down a long flight of stairs and out into an empty space. Or at least I thought it was empty. Then I noticed a solitary figure, a man, smoking, diagonally across from me on the other side of the yard. Despite being in the centre of town, I felt a long way from the madding crowd. All of a sudden I was in my own movie, a psychological thriller, in which the ground had shifted and I no longer knew where I was or who I was with. One wrong flight of stairs can get you into a whole lot of trouble, or so the strapline of my film ran. I said hello to the man to break the silence. He said hello back, in a mild, sociable manner. The tension broke. I no longer felt I was about to be murdered in an unfortunate twist of fate. I asked the man where we were. He said we were at the back of the Bingo Club. Moments later I was on the high street again, after a strange snaking route via the glittering, hangar like space that is Mecca, adjacent to the cinema, empty but for a cleaner. Luckily, my number wasn’t up.