Downton! So many plot points whirring in the air – how does he do it? At least twelve, at last count, both up and downstairs. How long before Mr. Carson ends up with a well-sharpened knife in his heart? Poor Mrs. Hughes. And poor Barrow – is there no love for him? Will Edith and Mary ever stop spitting in each other’s faces? Will Mary slut-shame Edith when she discovers the truth about little Marigold? Will Mrs. Crawley get it on with her gentleman caller, now that his vile snobbish son has an inexplicably nice fiancee? (How did THAT happen, Mr. Fellowes?) What happened to adorable Daisy, now a jealous green-eyed bitch?
And so much more. Not to mention the costumes and sets which are more lavish than ever, and that wonderful undercurrent of doom – our days are numbered, they all say both above and below stairs, (why can’t I have an under-butler? I could use one!) and they’re at least partially right.
Richard thinks there are only 3 more weeks. Botheration! What shall we do? Not just the show, but talking afterwards for hours, Richard, JM, Wayson and I, eating cookies and discussing plot lines both real (Jian, Hillary, Rubio etc.) and televised.
Anna and her family and friends spent yesterday evening gathered around the TV watching football; my daughter for some bizarre reason loves the game. Who cares about sweaty men grunting over a ball? Not I. But wondering how a fabulous Masterpiece series will end – now, that matters.
For your viewing pleasure – and so my children can understand where I learned to dance with such grace and sophistication – here’s a vintage clip from the TV show Soul Train. Spectacular. ENJOY!