Stream of Consciousness Saturday: Dead On Time…


Time once more to link up with Linda G Hill for her Stream of Consciousness Saturday Sunday feature. (sorry, I was busy yesterday)
This week’s prompt was as follows;

 “is”  Use the word “is” to begin your post – bonus points for using it as a word on its own or at the end of your final word, (i.e. “metamorphosis”)

So here we go…

Dead On Time.

“Is anyone sitting here?”

Bailey looked up from the crossword he was working on, shading his eyes from the low evening sun as he squinted at the silhouetted figure above him,

“No, be my guest.”

“Thank you,” said the newcomer, seating himself opposite Bailey, extending one hand and dropping keys, coins and other pocket debris onto the street cafe’s small table with the other, “Dennis Opperman, pleased to meet you.”

“Hello,” Bailey shook the man’s hand and nodded, then began to clear a space on the table, moving his folded newspaper and placing it on the third, unoccupied chair, “a very pleasant evening to sit and watch the world go by.”

“It is indeed, I’m rather fond of this spot myself. Are you from out of town, I’ve not seen you here before?”

“No, no I’ve been around for a while, just don’t get across town too often, that’s all.”

“Hey Guido,” Opperman clicked his fingers loudly a few times in the direction of a waiter, as he hurried past with a tray loaded with plates, “can I get some service here?”

The waiter shot him a withering look and carried the clattering pile into the cafe, reappearing a few moments later with menu and a notepad.

“The special today is roasted tomato and basil tart with…”

“Just a coffee,” Bailey’s uninvited guest abruptly interrupted the young man, “and bring me an ashtray.”

“A coffee and an ashtray, of course sir. Nothing to eat?”

“Are you deaf? I said just coffee.”

“Right you are sir, no ashtray then?”

Opperman, instantly furious, turned to glare at the waiter, “Are you taking the piss boy?”

“Not at all sir, just checking,” he smirked, I’ll be right back.”

“Bloody cheeky little sod, no respect these days,” he gave Bailey an expectant look, “don’t you think?”

“Oh I don’t know, most young people seem quite polite, I’ve certainly found they respond well to good manners anyway.”

The sarcasm seemed to pass Opperman by completely.

“You got kids then?” he asked Bailey, clearly uninterested in the answer and absently patting his pockets as if looking for something

“I haven’t, no,” Bailey replied, “not any more.” He watched the other man searching his pockets once more before enquiring, “Have you lost something?”

“Can’t find my damn cigarettes, sure I had them with me earlier.” He began the search for the third time.

“Here, have one of mine,” said Bailey, passing a open packet across the table, “I’m trying to cut down anyway.”

“Yeah? Forty-a-day man myself and never even had a cold,” he reached out and snatched the proffered cigarette, “load of bollocks they talk about it giving you cancer, all part of the government’s programme of brain washing, you mark my words.” He flicked a cheap lighter and drew heavily on the cigarette, blowing the smoke carelessly across the table as the waiter returned and unceremoniously dumped a tray in front of Opperman.

“Your coffee and ashtray, sir,” he said, “will there be anything else?”

“No. And don’t expect a tip either,” Opperman snapped, as the waiter turned to leave, raising his eyebrows at Bailey, who smiled and shook his head in silent agreement with the young man, whose name badge read “Kevin”, and his obvious opinion of the obnoxious customer, “In fact wait, I’ve changed my mind. Bring me a double brandy will you.”

“Is that the house brandy sir?” asked Kevin politely.

“No, I don’t want any of that cheap shit, the good stuff boy, that’s what I’m after.” He watched the waiter depart and then turned back to Bailey, “Did you see that, little bastard was talking back to me again?”

“I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by it Dennis, he’s probably had a long day, we all have. I expect it’s the heat. A young lad like that, run off his feet all day in this weather, he’s probably exhausted.”

“Crap!” he slapped his hand on the table, making the cups jump in their saucers,
“They need to toughen up a bit, these kids nowadays. I’ve been at my desk since eight this morning, ten o’clock I had to take a load of clients for drinks, then to lunch, I had to stop for a pint with a couple of blokes from head office after work and now,” he paused, took one final, ferocious drag on the cigarette, before crushing it out in the ashtray, “ now I’ve got to drive halfway across town in this fucking traffic…” he tailed off and looked up, as Kevin returned and placed a large brandy glass on the table in front of him.
Opperman raised a hand to indicate he should wait, drained the glass and slammed it back down on the table.

“So I’ll be wanting another one of those…” he focused his unsteady gaze on the waiters badge, “…Kevin. Go on boy, chop chop, hop to it!”

“Are you sure you should be driving Dennis?” asked Bailey, still smiling but sounding concerned, “You don’t look so good you know.”

“Rubbish, I can take my booze better than anyone I know!” becoming aggressive now, he snatched the glass from the tray as Kevin was cautiously approaching the table, seemingly not noticing the brandy that slopped on his sleeve and down his shirt as he threw back the remainder in one gulp, “Right lot of bloody nancy boys these days, I could drink the whole fucking lot of ’em under the table!”

Opperman grabbed another cigarette, blearily glancing at Bailey as he did so, “You don’t mind, right? Trying to cut down, you said.”

“No, not at all Dennis, feel free,” said Bailey cheerfully, “one or two more or less won’t make any difference now anyway.”

Denis Opperman scrabbled amongst the detritus of his pockets, spread out on the cluttered table, until he located his lighter, managing to light the cigarette on the fourth attempt and collapsed heavily back into his chair, sweating profusely, with an expression of puzzlement.

“Legs feel a bit strange, think I’d better sit for a while,” he wheezed, “don’t know what’s come over me. Must be the heat, like you said.”

“Oh, I’m pretty sure it’s not just the heat. Not just the booze either I’m afraid, although I’m sure you’ve drunk enough to make most people keel over, so congratulations on that. No, I’m afraid your problem is somewhat more… terminal than that.”
He let Opperman, who was now giving Bailey his undivided attention, absorb his words before he continued,
“Because you see Denis, I know who you are, even if I mean nothing to you, like my daughter’s life didn’t, I know all about you.”

Opperman now looked panicky, almost terrified, and yet he remained sitting in the chair across from this stranger that he’d met only thirty minutes earlier, staring as though transfixed, his mouth moving silently, his eyes darting this way and that, as if searching for a way out. Then he seemed to come to his senses and addressed Bailey in a strangled voice.

“Your daughter? I don’t understand, you said you didn’t have kids.”

“I said that I didn’t have children any more,” replied Bailey, his expression, previously friendly, had turned as hard as stone now, all amusement gone from his eyes, “my daughter was taken from me exactly a year ago today,” he looked at his watch, “in twenty minutes in fact. Then it will be precisely a year, to the minute, since a hit and run driver ran down my daughter as she walked home from her friend’s house. Police say he must have mounted the pavement, more than likely drunk, going way over the speed limit. Deborah never stood a chance. That was her name Dennis; Deborah. I thought you should know that, before you died.”

Opperman’s eyes bulged desperately, but he seemed unable to get his voice to work anymore, his mouth opened and closed like a dying goldfish.

“Allow me to fill in a few details for you Dennis,” said Bailey, “just so you don’t miss anything important,” he glanced at his watch again, “although I’d better hurry, we don’t have long, or should I say, you don’t.” his smile of satisfaction at Opperman’s increasing discomfort was no more than a grimace now, as he turned his blazing eyes on the terrified man and continued in a voice devoid of emotion.

“You were driving back from a meeting with some high class clients at the time Dennis. Had a few bottles of bubbly to celebrate closing the deal.”

Opperman’s eyes rolled wildly, his body otherwise frozen in the chair but his distress plainly visible nonetheless.
Bailey continued in the same steady, emotionless tone,

“On the phone to your mistress when you killed Debbie weren’t you? Didn’t even bother to stop and call for help. Don’t bother denying it, I’ve seen your phone records, I’ve seen your self-pitying e-mails. Oh, I’m sorry, you can’t deny it can you? Don’t worry, we’ll come to that in a minute,” the humorless grin again, “Do you know, I’ve spent the last year getting to know you very well indeed, Dennis Opperman. Where you work, where you live and, most importantly, where you drink. Here, for instance,” Bailey tapped the table with a fingertip, “I’ve noticed you like to get drunk and abuse the unfortunate staff here on a Friday, after you finish work and before then driving home, hence my surprise appearance at your usual table this fine evening.”

Opperman’s face managed to convey bewilderment but little else, so Bailey spoke once more.

“Oh look here, I’ve found your cigarettes for you, I must have picked them up with my paper.” Bailey lifted the newspaper off the chair beside him to reveal Opperman’s crumpled packet and indicated his own pack, still lying where Opperman had left them, after taking the second one a few moments before, “and, this is the part that I feel sure will interest you Dennis; you’ve been smoking these,” he picked up the packet, to show there were only two missing, “and I’m afraid I added a little something to them.” He let that sink in, watching Opperman’s mouth working listlessly, his eyes staring madly at Bailey.

“I’m a chemist you see, a pharmacist by trade, I have access to all sorts of fascinating compounds, several of which are now circulating around your bloodstream. One of them is responsible for your current state of immobility whilst another is interfering with your speech. But most of them are concentrating on your nervous system and internal organs, all of which will soon begin shutting down for good. There is literally nothing you can do. A sensation I have become only too familiar with over the past year, but one which I believe will begin to fade very, very soon.”

He picked up the newspaper, glanced briefly at Opperman, eyelids starting to droop now, consulted his watch one last time and returned to the final unsolved clue in his interrupted crossword; “Relieving traumatic experiences through emotional closure”. Bailey thought for a moment, nodded, filled in the small white squares with a wry smile and left the newspaper folded so Opperman could see it. Then he got up, left Kevin a large tip and walked into the bustling crowd.

In the last moments of Denis Opperman’s life, peering at the paper through the rapidly closing tunnel of his fading vision, he could just make out the word “ Catharsis“.

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Fiction Project: Deus Ex Machina – part three…

I had been going to wait for a while before posting the next installment of my still-evolving story, as I’d initially thought I could have each part end on at least a minor cliffhanger.
I had been holding off until that was the case, but I think that might result in a rather contrived format, so I’ll stick to just posting whatever moves the narrative forward.

Here, then, is part three of Kreel’s adventure…
(You can read the story so far HERE.)


The official had the look of some type of bird; tall and gaunt, with slightly stooped shoulders, a long thin nose and greasy black hair.
A raven, that’s what he reminds me of thought Kreel, shivering in distaste as the man approached.
There was no warmth in his expression, no attempt at pleasantries, in fact his unnaturally black eyes barely glanced up from the link screen he was carrying.
Not until he reached the spot where Kreel was standing, nervously eyeing the control panel for the transporter, did he finally deign to look up and, after giving the merest hint of a nod in greeting, said, “Your application has been processed, if you would be good enough to come with me, we can get the interview underway.” And with that, the man stood to one side, allowing Kreel to pass ahead of him, back down the corridor to the office.
By now Kreel’s inner voice was telling him with increasing urgency that going into that room would be a very bad idea indeed.
But what could he do?

He tried stalling, his mind working quickly to come up with any excuse that would get him out of there.
“Is there some sort of literature I could take with me, so I could think about this at home?” he asked.
“I’m afraid we don’t have anything like that here sir.” said the official, gently but firmly placing his hand on Kreel’s arm and guiding him towards the door of office 6054.
Shaking his arm free of the other man’s grasp, Kreel said, “I’m sorry, I’d like more time to think about this, it’s a big decision.”
“There really is nothing for you to be worried about sir, the process is completely safe and painless.”

This statement was clearly intended to reassure him, but to Kreel, coming from this predatory looking figure, it sounded unmistakably sinister and if anything it increased his desire not to re-enter the office.
“I’d like to leave now please,” he said, turning to face the uncooperative yet obsequious official, “you have no right to keep me here against my will!”
“But you’re not here against your will are you?” smarmed the man, who Kreel was beginning to dislike and distrust in equal measure, “you came to us of your own volition, and anyway, your application has been processed, it’s too late to back out now”
“Back out? Back out of what? It hasn’t even been explained to me what this, this Enhancement process is all about, let alone getting me to sign up for anything.”

Kreel turned on his heel and began walking back down the corridor toward the lobby, just as two figures appeared up ahead of him, a citizen and a Mobius official, seemingly deep in conversation.
He realised two things at once; firstly that this must be another prospective client for the mysterious Enhancement procedure being escorted to his interview; secondly that this was also his chance to escape.
Still walking, he waited until he was almost level with the pair, then turned and shouted back over his shoulder, “Don’t think you can bully me into signing anything. Let me out of here right now, you can’t stop me leaving!”

The new arrivals looked startled by his outburst and the second Mobius man said, “Is there a problem here? A misunderstanding perhaps?”
Kreel was gratified to note that his former escort was looking decidedly uncomfortable under the baleful glare of the other, presumably senior man, so he pressed his advantage;
“Misunderstanding? I should say there has been a misunderstanding,” turning to the bewildered looking citizen, who was looking on in what appeared to be rising anxiety, he said “I’d get out while you still can my friend, and whatever you do don’t sign anything.”

“Slynn, would you care to explain what is going on here?”
This was directed at Kreel’s now visibly cowed tormentor in a withering tone that left no doubt as to his displeasure in having to deal with the oily individual.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on,” said Kreel, trying to sound more confident than he felt and adopting a self righteous, pompous tone, “this colleague of yours,” he gave the man called Slynn a look of distaste, “was attempting to coerce me into signing up for something I know nothing about. I don’t intend to be intimidated by the likes of this third rate corporate lackey with ideas above his station, I demand to be treated with respect.”

An expression of irritation darkened the senior man’s face, mixed with one of, what…panic?..and he gave Slynn a look of pure hated.
He was about to address the citizen who accompanied him – the man was looking increasingly ill at ease to have got caught up in the confrontation – when Kreel realised he wouldn’t get a better chance to extricate himself from this situation and he once more rounded on the Mobius officer;
“I wish to leave immediately. You’re not going to railroad me into anything, I came here in good faith!” and then as an afterthought, “What is your name? I assume you are this man’s supervisor,” he shot Slynn another unfriendly glance, “and I intend to make a complaint to whomever is in charge.”

After pausing for only a second, the man extended his hand and said, “My apologies, where are my manners?” he smiled, but not with his eyes, his lips stayed tightly pressed together as though not having tried the expression before and finding the experience uncomfortable, “My name is Elrek Frane, I am the Chief Registrar at this facility.”
Kreel briefly shook the offered hand, noticing for the first time something familiar in the other man’s face, something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.
But it wasn’t important now, all he cared about was getting as far away from this place, as quickly as he could.

The Mobius official said, “I’m sorry that you have been given the erroneous impression that your presence here is anything but voluntary sir, I’m sure Slynn was simply being over zealous in promoting our services.”
Kreel snorted derisively, “Over zealous? Heavy handed is more like it.”
“Well sir, as I say, you are perfectly within your rights not to take up our offer at the present time. But maybe you could be persuaded to return at a later date, to have the process explained to you in more detail?”
“I very much doubt that,” said Kreel abruptly, “not after the way I’ve been treated today. Now if you would be so kind as to direct me to a working transporter, I’ll be on my way.”

“A working transporter, sir?” Frane raised an eyebrow quizzically, “I’m sure all of our transporters are in perfect working order, in fact I don’t believe we’ve ever had a problem with any of them.”
Did Kreel see a glint of amusement in the man’s face at this statement? A look of satisfaction?
If so, it was gone in an instant and the man turned on his heel and beckoned Kreel to follow him back to the lobby, addressing the sullen Slynn as he went,
“Slynn, please see that our client is shown to the correct room and made to feel welcome.”
“Yes, sir!” replied the scrawny, bird-like underling with obvious sarcasm that Frane either missed or ignored and, taking the unresisting citizen by the arm, scuttled off in the opposite direction.


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One liner Wednesday…

Hell hath no fury like a fish who’s fallen off her bicycle.

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Stream of Consciousness Saturday…


Stream of Consciousness Saturday again.
Today I’m going for a quickie, so to speak.

The prompt this week was “some/sum”, using either or both words.

I apologise in advance…

The bloke who answers the phone at my local Chinese takeaway tried adding up my order for six portions of dumplings, at £1.40 each.
His total came to £6.50.
That really is a perfect example of someone doing some dim dim sum sums.

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Down to The Wire: When TV drama got real…

David Simon was uniquely qualified to write an uncompromising, grittily realistic crime drama, serving as he did for over ten years as a journalist on the Baltimore Sun newspaper, much of which was spent reporting on the vicious wave of drug-related crime in the inner city.
Not that he was any newcomer to the genre, he’d already had a hit with the NBC drama Homicide: Life on the street and also with his book which inspired the series.

But when he came to his next project, he wanted to produce something completely original. A new way of watching television drama” was how he described the format at the time and, despite not receiving rave reviews from the critics when it was first aired, The Wire has now been widely acknowledged as one of, if not the, greatest crime series ever made.

But that’s just the thing, The Wire is so much more than just another police procedural, it has so many levels, so much to say about society and it isn’t always easy to tell which side you’re supposed to be rooting for.
The usual goalposts of “Good” and “Evil” are constantly moving, the lines defining the characters’ ethical boundaries forever blurring and flexing, to accommodate the impossible, rock-and-a-hard-place situations in which they find themselves.

Simon said that, at the start of the series, he wanted you to feel as though you were eavesdropping on a conversation and that you would have to pay attention to find out what was going on.
In fact he said he didn’t think it mattered if couldn’t follow all the street slang and terminology at first, it was something that you would get the hang of over time.
And he was right, I didn’t have a clue what was going on for the first couple of episodes, but that didn’t matter one bit, because before too long it all just clicked into place in my head and I found myself following the story with ease.

But even bearing that in mind, from the very first episode, I was still hooked.

Here’s the opening scene, along with the first of five different versions of that fabulous theme, one for each season.

Simon’s Baltimore crime saga is a masterclass in long-arc storytelling, the interwoven strands of all five seasons making a cohesive and satisfying backdrop to the five distinct themes that the series follows and this is one of the things which makes The Wire so different from other “cop shows”, the way the apparently distinct and separate investigations in each season are tied together so seamlessly.

The series follows the work of Major Crimes, a unit set up in response to the violent crime wave connected to the drug gangs who control the housing projects, high rises and street corners on the west side of Baltimore.
Season one focuses solely on the case surrounding heroin dealer Avon Barksdale and his right hand man, Russell “Stringer” Bell, their lieutenants, hoppers, runners, various young wannabe gangsters and of course, their clientele.

Bell and Barksdale.

We see the way the Barksdale gang rule their territory, the casual brutality with which they enforce their own private form of justice and the jockeying for position amongst the lower ranks, whilst at the same time we follow the seconded, disgraced, or demoted detectives who make up the hastily put together squad, in their attempt to bring down the organisation and incarcerate Barksdale, putting all their efforts into a wiretap on the gang’s phone pagers, the “wire” of the title.

It makes for riveting viewing.
And the clever thing is, after a while you genuinely don’t know where your loyalty lies, with the cops or the corner boys.

Surprisingly, for such an distinctly American show, two of the lead characters are played by British actors.
Dominic West plays the self destructive, heavy drinking detective, Jimmy McNulty, in pursuit of Idris Elba‘s smooth but menacing Stringer Bell.

The Wire’s strength is in its characters. McNulty’s long time partner, William “Bunk” Moreland, played by Wendell Pierce, is the perfect foil to Jimmy’s brilliant but damaged Irish rogue persona, coming across like some sort of foul mouthed, cigar-chomping Barry White in a sharp suit, tough and smart but with more respect for the system than his insubordinate drinking buddy.
Bunk and McNulty.

One of my personal favourite members of the squad is Clarke Peters‘ character, the dapper and thoughtful Lester Freamon, who spends much of his time making carved miniatures of period doll house furniture at his desk, much to the initial bewilderment of his fellow detectives.
It’s only when Lester thinks he has something worth saying that he gives the team the benefit of his wisdom and it isn’t long before he becomes the mastermind behind the all-important wiretap.


As the second season begins, the attention of Major Crimes shifts to the local dock workers’ union and a case taking in sex trafficking, prostitution, corruption and murder, while at the same time, staying connected to the original story, the primary target, Barksdale and his crew.

This is also when we get to see more of the pretender to the drug king’s throne, the cold eyed, highly intelligent and deceptively quietly spoken young sociopath, Marlo “Black” Stanfield, played with a frightening ruthlessness by Jamie Hector.
Stanfield rules his people with an iron fist, mercilessly dispatching anybody he sees as having disrespected his authority in even the smallest way and making serious inroads into Barksdale territory, all of which leads to escalating violence and extra complications for the police and their operation.

Marlo (second left) and the Stanfield crew.

Major Crimes.

With each new season, the corrupt “money trail” leads the investigators further into the Machiavellian world of city politics, with story lines set in city hall, the school system and, in a fitting fin de seicle, back to Simon’s old employer, the Baltimore Sun newspaper.

There are many side plots, involving the strained personal lives and relationships of players on both sides of the game; arguably the show’s most popular character, stick-up man Omar Little, played with evil charm by Michael K Williams; a serial killer of homeless people; a pair of amusingly chilled out contract killers and an awful lot of swearing, including liberal use of the oedipal compound noun and this scene, which consists entirely of variations on the word “fuck”.

You have been warned.

There is a lot of humour in the dialogue between the characters, on both sides of the law, most of whom we get to know well across the nearly sixty episodes, the sort of authentic, natural inter-personal relationships that ring true for groups that experience such intense and brutal daily lives.
Gallows humour maybe, mixed with much profanity and non-pc use of “the n-word”, but the way the show is scripted and the freedom given to actors to improvise parts of their own dialogue somehow makes the offensive seem everyday and usually unacceptable behaviour is portrayed in a sympathetic and non-judgemental way.

Although the world in which The Wire is set is a male-dominated one, that isn’t to say Simon didn’t provide us with some great strong female characters too, the main one being Sonja Sohn as Shakima “Kima” Greggs, a tough yet diminutive lesbian detective with a complicated personal life, who gives as good as she gets from her male colleagues and often acts as the squad’s moral compass during some of the more ethically ambiguous moments in the case.


Then there’s Deirdre Lovejoy‘s character, Rhonda Pearlman, the team’s appointed State Prosecutor. The feisty and ambitious lawyer doesn’t balk at going after corrupt politicians and state officials, but who occasionally gets frustrated by the squad, McNulty in particular, and their habit of bending the rules to breaking point, in pursuit of their continually adapting targets

And attempting, against all the odds, to hold the entire thing together is the team’s lieutenant, Cedric Daniels, played with a strait laced cowboy swagger by the excellent Lance Reddick.


He seems to spend half his time fighting political battles within the department on behalf of his squad and the other half trying to keep the squad from tearing itself apart. It’s the loyalty and support he gives the detectives under his command, as well as the ability to turn a blind eye when necessary, that makes Daniels popular with his men and they in turn back him up when the bosses question his decisions.

The way that the series is written, the fact that it features cameos from real people who inspired the show’s characters, the way in which Simon manages to show us the vulnerabilities and insecurities in characters who are too often portrayed as two dimensional, it draws us in to a world that we would normally shy away from, a frightening and uncompromising world that we’re glad someone else has to deal with, but which ultimately is populated by human beings with the same frailties and imperfections as the rest of us.

If The Wire does anything but provide fantastic entertainment and impeccable storytelling, then it’s that it makes you realise that these people aren’t just statistics, soundbites and news stories, they have lives and families and all the things we all take for granted, it’s just that they are living them in what amounts to an urban war zone.
And that kind of environment will inevitably breed the sort of disenfranchised anger and unrest that Simon shows us in his groundbreaking series.

I got so much more out of watching The Wire second time round, maybe because I was already tuned in to the street slang and unfamiliar accents, maybe because I was paying more attention to the nuances of the brilliant cast, but I cannot recommend it highly enough, whether you are already a fan of hard edged police drama, or just searching for a brilliantly acted drama with plenty of heart, give The Wire a try, you won’t regret.

To finish this post and to give you a more in-depth background to the series, here’s Simon talking to president Obama himself, about the impact of The Wire and the US “war on drugs”

{Check out David Simon’s blog HERE.}


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Seasons on the sofa…

Seasons on the sofa…

imageThe era of binge viewing is well and truly upon us.
With DVD box sets and streaming services like Netflix popping up all over the internet, there’s no longer any need to wait a week to catch the next thrilling installment of whichever blockbuster TV series you are currently obsessed with, in fact if the temptation becomes too much you can watch all thirty episodes in one weekend.

In the same way that I’ve (more than once) enjoyed Twin Peaks, a total immersion experience.

Sometimes, because of the way shows like Game of Thrones and Breaking Bad are hyped, with spoilers, speculation and fan theories on every culture and genre TV website, watching the entire season in one go is the only alternative to walking around with your fingers in your ears, going; “La La La La La I’m not listening.”

Regular readers of this blog will know that I don’t own a computer so, short of laboriously downloading episodes one at a time to watch on my phone or tablet, I’m limited to buying whole series on DVD or Blu-ray, which is how I’ve been watching the aforementioned Game of Thrones (accompanied by the “La La La…” method, to combat friends with satellite TV) and the highly entertaining, if slightly daft, Grimm.

But recently I’ve taken to trawling our local library’s collection of TV box sets and, since Rhonda was never much of a TV watcher in the States, I had no problem finding something she hadn’t seen before.
Although, as I’m sure you know, revisiting any type of entertainment, be it music, movies, or TV, in the company of someone who hasn’t experienced it before, can add a new perspective to something you previously thought you knew well, so I was perfectly happy to re-watch anything I’d enjoyed in the past.

Which is why we’ve spent most evenings for the last month or so, watching at least a couple of episodes of probably the best crime drama series ever made.
And the conclusion of this post will be my attempt to convince as many of you as possible to discover it for yourselves. Or rediscover it if, like me, you thought you’d had all you could get from it the first time round, because believe me, it’s well worth another watch.

I won’t keep you in suspense for long, I wonder how many of you will guess right…


Posted by on June 24, 2015 in Arts, Personal anecdote, TV, Twin Peaks


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One liner Wednesday…

It’s never dull round at Jack’s place after work, an old wok and nailed ply makes Jack a dart board.

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