We have just watched Freaky Friday, the 2003 version, for the umpteenth time. Less umpteenth for me than for Daughter, who can quote every line. I give in more easily over Freaky Friday than with many other films, because I have a guilty conscience. It’s like the fish & chips in Penzance.
I said we’d go and see FF during the Christmas holidays. Plenty of time. The day before term started we had yet to go, and I felt so tired and unwell that Daughter generously let me off the hook. That’s why I bought the film as soon as the DVD was in the shops, which is very unlike me. Guilt.
The fish in Penzance proved even harder. I promised her fish & chips for dinner one night. The restaurant, which as far as I can remember was covered in fishing nets and the like, didn’t serve fish & chips. “OK, we’ll have it tomorrow, then”. You’d think it wouldn’t be hard to find fish in an English harbour town. It was. We walked round the town centre twice, in the freezing cold. The only place we found was of the eat-it-on-the-pavement type, which when it feels like Siberia and you have four hours before the train leaves, is not a good option. I was let off the hook again, and we froze like mad in the pizza restaurant in the cinema instead. But at least we had somewhere to sit.
I have a horrible suspicion that I still owe Daughter the fish & chips. And that’s why we sometimes sit down with Freaky Friday again.
(It is actually an enjoyable film with the back-to-front mother and daughter roles. I have difficulty keeping up with the role reversal at times, but it’s still fun. And I never eat fortune cookies.)