It's Shrove Tuesday, the day before Lent. General Custer, he of the face carved out of Mount Rushmore and last seen loitering in the pub doorway smoking fag after fag, is reputedly in Rio enjoying Mardis Gras.
We picture him on his back in the middle of the road, a smile on his face after too many Tequila Slammers and gazing gratefully upwards while scantily clad Brazilians dance all over him as they make their way ever onwards in the parade.
Feels like heaven.
Heaven, meanwhile, is a place on Earth for Mr Champagne-Charlie who goes for £8 worth of pick-and-mix before we pile into the Yeovil Cineworld for an early evening showing of True Grit.
'Fill your hand you sonofabitch,' he says, reaching for the licorice comfits.
'That's a hell of a statement for a one-eyed fatman,' I retort. Mr Champagne-Charlie is neither one-eyed nor fat, but it seems the right response. The two of us are Western fanatics.
In the auditorium, he pours scorn on the shot fired by Rooster Cogburn from a great distance and goes into a long diatribe about Colt 45s, velocity and speeding bullets.
Western fan or not, it's all too much for me and flies right above my head.
'Ned, in one minute I'm going to shoot you or take you back to Fort Smith to hang you at Judge Parker's convenience. Which it'll be?' I whisper.
Mr Grigg and Mrs Champagne-Charlie then tell us to put our popcorn where our mouths are.
Meanwhile, for General Custer in Rio, his experience is even better than a 3-D film. It's for real.
It's Shrove Tuesday and I should be giving up something for Lent. Blogging maybe? I think not.
That's about it.
Love Maddie x
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That's about it. Love Maddie x