Nine years, oh my goodness, since the first film. Seven years since the 5th book. Three-and-a-bit years, yikes, since the 7th and final book. Time, at long last, for the 7th and final film, part 1 thereof.

Full post-roast Sunday pm family outing to the World of Cine for the obscure Harry Potter And The Deathly Hallows. Other cinemas are available. Retrieve pre-booked tickets, reclaim car park fee, and remove ourselves from the milling foyer into screen 3. Reaching into the man-bag, I'm about to hand out the freezer bags of goodies -- wine gums, jelly beans, Tongue Tangles -- when Wifey points out that the World of Cine sweet sweeney / confectionery constables / percy pigs are watching. They'll have you, she says, quick as that. Wait 'til the lights go down. Wise words.

Minute or so later, a child, one of mine, whispers something to his mother. She turns to me: they want popcorn. But I've brought stuff! That may be, she says, but they want popcorn.

Us responsible parents head back out. What size should I get? Go large, I suggest. Really? Really. Cinegirl unfolds a bag, crams it full of popcorn, flattening it down several times, and hands it over. £4.60, please. Sharp intake. We hand over the money. Oh, I say, and an empty bag, please.

Er, I'll need to ask someone, she says. She consults a colleague who looks equally non-plussed. Sorry, she says, I can't give you an empty bag. But there's some over by the pick 'n' mix. I head that way and nab three nicely flat PnM bags.

Back with the kids, I carefully decant our single large popcorn into the smaller bags, then dispense the decent sized portions to the grateful kiddywinks. Their munching (and unsociable rustling) takes them comfortably through the trailers and well into the film itself.

Really enjoying the big screen action, delightfully dark, depressing and downbeat with some nastily jumpy bits, when a little voice says into my ear: Dad, have you got any sweets?