Many of you (A Mrs Trellis of North Baker Street) will have been sitting as if permanently attached to their chairs, staring with anticipation at their monitors, waiting for my verdict on the latest Monday evening entertainment to be perpetrated by our friends at the BBC.
I refer of course to the latest attempt to squeeze on last drop of haemoglobin out of the basalt by another dramatisation of the Holmes stories. Oh dear. Seldom can we have seen a production so up itself. High camp and silliness abounds in this series which appears not to know whether it is Batman, Carry on up the Bakerloo line or Harry Potter.
Mark Gatiss was excellent as Dr Chinnery. Unfortunately the book he attempted to write was rubbish, and he has now turned to thespianism. What a shame.
But what I really wanted to write about was something that seems to happen in most crime series and films. It is as annoying as all American telephone numbers having the area code 555. It is not as annoying as David Cameron but I am still going to complain.
In this instance, Holmes and Watson get in a taxi in Baker Street in daylight. When they arrive in Brixton it is night. Not dusk, not overcast, but black. I cannot think of a good reason for this. If Holmes is the cleverest man in London (a bit like saying the most handsome man in Norfolk), then why does he tolerate a taxi driver taking several hours to travel seven or eight miles? Do the producers/writers/continuity checkers believe that Brixton is in a different time zone? I shall not rest until I know the answer. This, more than all of the other nonsense, campery and absurd storylines made the whole production ludicrous and unbearable. I shall be watching again next week.
(I shall be awarding points in the comments section. You know to what I am referring.)