I am not too proud to admit to my weaknesses. There are those who consider that frittering 65 hours every week watching detective/police/mystery/spy series on TV to be a waste of time. Indeed, there are some extremists such as my dear friend Richard, who has so taken against the intrusion of the Murdoch Evil Empire into our society that not only has he refused to subscribe to Sky, but has turned his television into a hothouse for growing antirrhinums. I have an answer to these critics (should they wander in here). I have thought deeply and considerately about this, and decided that they can all “fuck off”.
I was intrigued to see what was special about “Wallander” that could cause Kenneth Branagh to indulge in a bit of television drama. I have watched the first episode, and my pondering remains unanswered. It was fairly average – there was little therein to which I could take exception, even the presence of Wossname Warner taking himself a little too seriously, and I wonder why it is necessary for the sexual abuse of children to be a constituent part of every detective drama. The producers indulged themselves by making reference to Sweden in the opening minutes, and there was some nice music. I suspect that the music was not Swedish. As you know, nothing of any quality musically has come from Sweden since old Bernie Crusell added the last augmented sixth to his final clarinet concerto. Sorry, Dave, I know that you enjoy headbanging round your new greenhouse to “Soilwork”, but they are hardly up to the standard of the Beverly Sisters, are they? I usually enjoy watching Branagh, even when he performs so well that I find myself observing his acting rather than the film or play that he is in, but dunno, so far, why he chose to do this.
I still watch “Spooks” too, even though the plot has more leaks than an MI5 memo, and the acting is as hammy as a ham and tomato sandwich without the tomato. And the bread. I got into trouble for saying that Spooks had its name changed to “MI5” in the USA because the television companies thought that the audience were too stupid to understand the original name. Some folks of an American persuasion thought that I was saying that they were too stupid. That was really dumb of them, wasn’t it?
I have, however, learnt that anything associated with Lynda La Plante is not worth watching. I will use that in evidence when I reach the slightly tarnished side gate next to the pearly ones. Please feel free to wrestle the remote control device out of my hands if you hear me say “Maybe I’ll give her one more chance”.
I am also pleased to announce the completion of the annual festive card. You will hear me kicking my printer this weekend as I fail to understand why Hewlett Packard, who have been in the business since Charles Babbage was in nappies, can’t make a sodding printer that selects one sheet of paper/card at a time, every time.
If you received a card last year, and have not had the foresight to relocate, then this year’s production will be on its way to you soon.
If you did not receive one and would like to (don’t pretend that you have standards, you’re here, aren’t you?), send your address in an email to me. You can see the email address on my profile.