Today has been a mother-daughter bonding experience for me and Small Person. Following a disappointing (on her part) start which saw me falling asleep during my ninety-fourth viewing of Finding Nemo (there's only so much schmaltzy good-guys-finish-first Disney crap I can stomach) and her wandering off to play, the day has gone from strength to strength. We went to see the first Narnia film this afternoon - The Lion, The Witch and the Wardrobe. I know it's not technically the first story, and I do wonder whether it'll end up in a confusing Star Wars prequel thing if they decide to make the film of the first book at some point (warning: I am a Narnia geek, have been since the age of eight) but we'll go with it for the sake of laziness. The only way I can describe the film from the point of view of an lifelong Narnia obsessive is that it was breathtakingly true to the book. Attention to detail was meticulous, down to the bluebottle in the wardrobe room when Lucy first discovered it. From start to finish the impression was of a film that had been carefully crafted with thoughtful reference to the source material, and that is rare enough to be remarkable. I can't emphasise enough how much the whole Narnia thing means to me. I devoured all seven books as a child, and although I never really got Prince Caspian or The Last Battle, the whole thing still strikes a chord, and I'm hoping to saddle Small Person with the same geeky viewpoint. I mean, I'm not letting her have Jesus, so the least I can do is give her Narnia.
Small Person has been something of a revelation today. I swear that living with her is like having a flatmate sometimes, so worldly is her outlook. The hippy side of me would say that she's been here before - whatever, she's wise beyond her years. Having asserted (loudly) in the cinema that Lucy should never have gone to tea with Mr Tumnus because "he's a Stranger!!" she surpassed herself this evening.
Picture the scene. Sunday evening chez Surly involves early jarmies (for Small Person) and Top of the Pops. Today offered a bonus - a Green Day mini gig recorded earlier this year in the BBC car park in Shepherds Bush. Despite only being five-and-a-half, Small Person is a very big Green Day fan, having American Idiot as part of her personal CD collection. We happily rocked out to the first part of the set. It was during the live version of Jesus of Suburbia that the following exchange took place:
SP (indignant) : Mummy, he said a swear word!
Me (absently, rocking out) : Did he, my love?
SP (rather cross) : Yes, he did.
Me (ill-advisedly) : What was it?
SP (matter-of-factly) : "Fucking"
Me (rather shocked) : No, darling, he said "parking"
Cue silent interlude while she digested correction of lyrics and I visualised a life of crime, trauma and minimum wage jobs for her.
Seriously though, my daughter rocks.