‘Eight Letters’ – Gary Barlow Davie He didn’t want to do this. Davie had a flashback to when he was a little kid and his mother would bribe him to do things he didn’t like doing. The dentist. The doctor. Working hard at school. The reward was always the same. They’d get the bus into Glasgow, and they’d go to the cinema to see the movie of his choice. Twice a year, maybe three times if he was lucky. They didn’t have the cash for that kind of thing, but sometimes if Ena had picked up a bit of extra casual work, or got a bonus from one of her three cleaning jobs, the cinema was his oyster. And he loved it. Now his movie-viewing experience was slightly different. He watched them on his home cinema, a $200k exercise in indulgence, with a bar, a popcorn maker, permanently stocked, reclining leather chairs and sofas, and any title he wanted to see, whether they’d been released yet or not. That was the kind of pull Davie Johnston had in this town.
