Last night I finally got round to watching one of the classic horror films that has somehow been evading me for all this time — The Wicker Man (1973)

Not the apparently-dreadful remake. Oh not the bees.

I loved it.

Despite knowing the ending already, probably through some kind of film osmosis over the years, I still enjoyed it all the way through.

It was wonderfully creepy, occasionally inappropriate and all with a glorious feeling of a creeping dread.

Now thinking back to the film Midsommar, that now feels like The Wicker Man on acid in retrospect.

I should probably rewatch that soon.

Im not going to attempt any kind of analysis, only to log for myself that i saw it.

How that copper got any sleep in that pub bed and breakfast I dont know.