This week’s “Lewis” appeared to be following the path for which I have been campaigning. It began with Lewis and Hathaway getting sweaty together, and Lewis’s opening remark was “Knobs game”, which I took to be some sort of invitation to participate in homo-erotic activity. This was followed by Lewis wincing in pain. I was disappointed. This scene took place on a squash court (not an environment with which I am familiar, so forgive me) and this was as close as the two got for the whole episode. No sly winks, no delicate massaging of extremities, no tongues. Nothing. Indeed, I believe “Knobs game” should have read “Knob’s game” and was indicative of Lewis’s opinion of this sport. At least he has one redeeming feature.
There followed another plunge into the depths of inanity, depths which, if the evidence is anything to go by, are infinite. I believe the series has ended. This prevents us from seeing the next episode in which prince Michael of Kent is bludgeoned to death by a reincarnation of Harry Worth. I am considering taking up the ingestion of narcotics rather than watch any more of this tripe, particularly now the love story has burnt out.
I shall only watch detective movies where there is a love interest between the leading heroes. This means that “Miss Marple” must be put aside, unless she trades in her vibrator for one with considerably more functions. I shall eschew “Dixon of Dock Green”, apart from where Lauderdale gets to use his truncheon. “