Reflected once again last night on the curious ability of a well-made 'feel-good' movie to make one, in short, Feel Good.
At the end of a day in which I achieved nothing more than some inconsequential domestic cleaning and tidying, followed by further cleaning and tidying, most of it carried out with extremely bad grace whilst railing silently at absent family members through clenched teeth . . . I was utterly ready for bed shortly after nine.
Was also feeling grumpy at having twisted my knee whilst negotiating a groyne* earlier in the evening.
While waiting for the kettle to boil for two large restorative mugs of tea, I slumped on the sofa, flicked on the telly and there was good old Bridget Jones's Diary. I've seen it dozens of times so I wasn't going to bother watching it again, especially given how out of kilter it was with my extremely foul mood.
Well, OK, just until I down the first mug of tea, then. Hmm, actually, it's worth watching just a tiny bit more, so I'll just pour myself a small glass of wine . . .
By the closing credits I was purring. And I went to bed a happy woman. How incredibly shallow and easily manipulated I am!
* note crucial spelling here - I'm referring to inadvisedly jumping off a wooden structure jutting out of the sea , rather than anything of a more intimate nature ...