Jonny McCambridge: A new car on date night - what could go wrong?

But then it’s been a while since there’s been very much to look forward to. Months of pandemic have smothered most attempts at social variation, leaving each day much the same as the one before.

Maybe this is why my wife and I talked excitedly about the prospect of our first date night in months.

And, in fairness, there seemed to be quite a bit to celebrate. It was our wedding anniversary and we had secured a babysitter. Also I had bought a new car. Or, to be more exact, I had traded in my old car for a slightly less old car.

And cognisant of the public health situation, we had come up with a socially responsible plan for our date. We would take my shining car to a drive-in cinema. The advertised movie was Saving Private Ryan which, while hardly considered a romantic classic, was at least long enough in duration to ensure that our son would be asleep before we returned home.

We arrived, pulled my car in front of the giant screen and tuned the radio so we could hear the soundtrack. My wife and I looked at each other and smiled, feeling the strain of months of work and parental responsibility beginning to lift. That was as good as it got.

Soon I became agitated. The parking spot I had chosen meant that part of the screen was obscured by the strip between my windscreen and driver’s window. This bothered me. I moved left and right, but couldn’t settle. All I could see was the hunk of the car interior which ran down the middle of the screen.

‘Why don’t you try driving to a different spot?’ my wife suggested patiently.

‘No, it’s alright, it’ll be grand.’

But the agitation grew within me throughout the pre-movie trailers. Then the film began. Just as Spielberg’s epic recreation of the D-Day landing filled the screen, I cracked. I started the engine.

‘Right, we’re moving.’

‘Now you decide to move?’

I drove around for some minutes before finding another spot. It was arguably worse, but I decided to make the best of it. I sat back and tried to relax. For five minutes.

‘I need to go to the toilet,’ I announced, just as the allies were about to secure the Normandy beach.

My wife walked with me, perhaps concerned that I would get lost in the dark. Soon we were back in the car - just in time for another problem. The entry fee included a pizza and soft drinks. I started to think about this.

‘What if they tried to deliver the pizza when we were at the toilet?’

‘Well, if they did I’m sure they’ll come back.’

I strained to look into the car parked beside me.

‘Look, they’re eating pizza! They must have got their pizza while we were away.’

I worried about missing my dinner for the next 20 minutes, right until the point when a woman came and delivered a pizza and a bottle of Coke.

‘Are you happy now?’ my wife asked.

I was. I could now enjoy the film. I opened the cap on the plastic Coke bottle, which promptly exploded in a shower of wild fizz and bubbles, spraying the interior of the car and my wife and myself in sticky black liquid.

Words were exchanged.

The narrative of the film wound on. Having seen it before I decided it would be useful to add my own commentary.

‘Look,’ I said as one of the soldiers appeared on screen, ‘that’s Ben Affleck.’

‘That’s not Ben Affleck.’

I shook my head sadly, disappointed that my wisdom and knowledge was being defied. Every time the character appeared on screen my wife insisted on stating ‘That’s definitely not Ben Affleck.’

A challenge like this could not be allowed to pass. I slipped my mobile out of my pocket and googled ‘Saving Private Ryan. Ben Affleck’.

The first result read: ‘Why some people think Ben Affleck is in Saving Private Ryan’. This was not promising. Further examination confirmed that he wasn’t in the film. I dropped the phone and said nothing. Sometimes you just have to hold the line.

The movie and the date night neared its conclusion. I wanted to ensure that I had a clear view of the climatic final battle scene so decided to demist the windscreen. I turned the ignition key. Nothing. I tried it again and then let out a groan.

‘What is it now?’ my wife asked.

‘The battery’s dead. I must have run it down by playing the radio without the engine on.’

The end of the film passed me by, possibly because my head was now resting on the steering wheel.

My mood darkened as I thought about how we were going to get home. I knew that the car park was at the top of a hill and reasoned that if I could get the vehicle rolling I might be able to jump-start it. I considered asking my wife to push, but this didn’t seem very gallant, so I got out while she took the wheel.

I positioned myself behind the car and shoved. Nothing happened. I tried harder. I pushed with such effort that I could feel something pop in my brain. Still the car remained stationary. I looked through the window and gasped.

‘Could you please release the handbrake honey?’

Finally the car moved. Slowly at first and then very fast, forcing me to run after it.

‘Try the ignition! Try the ignition!’

The car came to a halt at the bottom, but the engine had not been roused. In the end I had to go to a little office where one of the cinema staff produced a set of jump leads.

‘This happens all the time,’ he informed me cheerfully.

Soon my car was once more roaring with life. It was time to go home.

‘Hope you had a good time?’ the man with the jump leads asked as I drove away.

A message from the Editor:

Thank you for reading this story on our website. While I have your attention, I also have an important request to make of you.

With the coronavirus lockdown having a major impact on many of our advertisers - and consequently the revenue we receive - we are more reliant than ever on you taking out a digital subscription.

Subscribe to newsletter.co.uk and enjoy unlimited access to the best Northern Ireland and UK news and information online and on our app. With a digital subscription, you can read more than 5 articles, see fewer ads, enjoy faster load times, and get access to exclusive newsletters and content. Visit https://www.newsletter.co.uk/subscriptions now to sign up.

Our journalism costs money and we rely on advertising, print and digital revenues to help to support them. By supporting us, we are able to support you in providing trusted, fact-checked content for this website.

Alistair Bushe

Editor