Home defence bill unlikely to lead to a rash of bloody encounters.

ST FRANCIS was just addressing a sparrow as Sister Bird up there on the big screen when a man sat down beside me in the cinema and squeezed my 13-year-old knee. (The other knee was the same age, but he chose to fondle only the one on the right.)

I’d been watching a film about saintly gentleness, but, uninfluenced by that soft stuff, I backhanded the man with a closed fist and yelled loudly enough to bring a rush of usherettes with torches they shone into the row where I sat. In the sudden brightness, I looked at the man beside me. My father.

My father, who clearly couldn’t make up his mind whether to be admiring of my right hook or furious at my over-reaction. Knowing I was headed to the Fairview cinema, he’d decided to drop in on Saint Francis and give me a lift home, if he could find me in the dark. When he did locate me, the knee squeeze was by way of a greeting. It took a lot of explaining to the cinema staff and we never saw the rest of the movie.