IMAGINE something as straightforward as going to the cinema turning into something so complicated and stressful that you can’t see straight.

First, there's the ordeal of getting there. Then, arriving at the cinema, you're suddenly in a brightly lit foyer, surrounded by people and noise. You can’t make out the signs, and even if you do they don’t seem to make sense. You can’t tell where the stairs are because they’re not clearly marked, so you’re frightened of putting one foot in front of another in case you fall.

You can’t tell where the windows end and the doors begin, because they’re all glass. Or the doors are a dark colour, like the walls and carpet, which makes you feel disorientated and dizzy. You don’t understand how the ticket machine works, it’s a jumble of words, numbers and buttons, but there doesn’t seem to be anyone around to help. All this makes you panic - and that’s before you’ve even entered the dark auditorium and tried to find your seat.

For someone with dementia, this is the reality of a trip to the cinema. What we take for granted can be a huge ordeal if you have problems with memory loss, spatial awareness, vision, communication and other conditions that people with dementia live with. I know from experience that taking someone with dementia to the cinema, or theatre, can be so stressful you wish you’d never left the house.

In Bradford, moves are underway to make cinema-going a less stressful experience for people with dementia and their families and carers. The city's Pictureville and Cubby Broccoli cinemas, at the National Media Museum, are part of a nationwide Picturehouse programme of Dementia Friendly screenings. Supported by the BFI and the Alzheimer's Society, these monthly screenings provide an enjoyable, inclusive experience in a safe, friendly environment.

This week I was invited to a Dementia Friendly screening at Bradford Picturehouse, where I learned about changes that have made the venue more accessible. Open to the general public too, the screenings meet the needs of people with dementia. The cinema lights are left on low, there are no adverts or trailers, and the audience is allowed to move around, talk and sing along to any musical numbers, should they wish.

Refreshments are served before the film, giving people chance to socialise and familiarise themselves with surroundings, signage is made clearer, and stairs and glass doors are marked, making them more visible.

This week's film was romantic comedy Funny Face. Musicals are popular, but organisers encourage requests.

Chatting to people over coffee and biscuits in the interval - there's an interval at every screening, as a break is often welcome - I was heartened to see how much people were enjoying the experience.

"It's such a long time since we've been to the cinema, I'm so glad we found out about this," said a woman who'd come along with her husband, who has dementia. "It's nice to get out. We'd just have been sat in the house otherwise."

Bradford’s Dementia Action Alliance, which encourages organisations and businesses to be Dementia Friendly, says a friendly, understanding attitude among people they encounter is the most important thing cited by people with dementia.

With film such a powerful means of connecting with memories, these cinema screenings are a great way of helping people with dementia to continue living well. And it's a social lifeline for carers, who - as anyone who has cared for a loved one knows - often endure isolation.

* THE faux pas at this week's Oscars ceremony was beyond awkward - but it brought some light relief to this generally po-faced occasion.

It was, of course, the night La La Land was wrongly announced as best film; the biggest prize of them all. It wasn't until the poor producer was well into his acceptance speech, (he'd even gushingly thanked his parents), that it emerged Moonlight was the actual winner.

I feel for those whose joy turned to crushing disappointment but, let's face it, it was quite funny. Showbiz awards ceremonies can be such pompous, worthy affairs. It's the jaw-dropping bits we remember; like Madonna falling off the stage and Jarvis Cocker's glorious send-up of Michael Jackson's earnest Earth Song. How we love such toe-curling moments.

* I WAS intrigued to hear that Prime Minister Theresa May is giving up crisps for Lent, as I am doing the same.

I adore crisps and could happily work my way through a family-size bag, at least until the self-loathing kicks in.

I once spent a summer working at Seabrook Crisps, and would go home on the bus stinking of whatever flavour I'd been packing (usually cheese and onion). It didn't put me off though. I've eaten crisps practically every day since.

It's going to be a long 40 days...

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