It’s 11.30 p.m.; my neighbour must be away, because her teenagers are in her yard having a party. Oh how the swearing, shrieking and giggles take me back to the dissolute adolescence of my own kids. The horror the horror. The earplugs will be coming out tonight.
It’s a good thing I’m not ready for bed yet. Just saw the last episode of “Broadchurch.” Amazing, how they turned it from a riveting murder mystery into a deeply moving exploration of love, family, community, loss, perversion, tragedy. Suddenly, a whole new level.
The people who run Showcase the channel, however, on which it appeared, should be tied up with their eyeballs propped open and forced to watch their stream of commercials non-stop for a week or two. It was disgusting; they interrupted the show relentlessly, showing the same shit over and over. The show ended 15 minutes late, there were so many commercials. Shame on you, greedy devils, destroying a work of art like that.
Just had an email from my internet friend Theresa Kishkan – my response system is not working again. She wrote to say, “Yes, rain here too — and the last episode of “Larkrise to Candleford”. (I don’t get Miley Cyrus either.)