This post can be summarised as follows: I am a wimp.
If you’re looking for a post of any substance, with erudite thoughts about the current state of the Church (lol), the economy (whahahaha), what on earth is happening in Yemen (errrr), then just take that first line and go on your merry way. The rest of this is – and Brownie Guide’s honour, I’m telling the truth here – me trying to calm myself down and not let a tv series rob me of my sleep.
Dang it, why do I not keep whisky in the house. Why am I not in the habit of using alcohol to calm my nerves. WHY AM I SOUNDING LIKE MRS. BENNET GOING ON ABOUT MY NERVES.
Blow away the fear.
All right, here’s the short version. I’m watching an episode of Endeavour. I’m terrified and can’t watch more than about five minutes at a time before having to pause it, walk around, close all the doors, make tea, prick myself with needles/forks/toothpicks/shards of glass or other somesuch grounding activity before wrapping myself back up into my duvet and pressing Play again.
There. Now you have the nuts and bolts of it.
From here on in you can expect nothing more of any use, construct or coherence from this post.
I like crime fiction. As a kid my father and I would watch The Bill every Tuesday and Thursday evening (8pm! Right?). I would ‘borrow’ my father’s Brother Cadfael books to read (my Dad pretended not to notice). Then Christie novels. We watched The Chief, which had the most beautifully haunting, solitary, lonesome theme music. Something with an oboe. I mentioned it to my father once and he simply said that it was lonely at the top – and that destroyed any ambition I might have had to enter the police force and end up with scrambled egg on my shoulders. Later we watched Silent Witness whenever we caught up in front of the tv. We’ve watched Inspector Morse (of which Endeavour is the prequel) and its sequel Lewis. Murder One (also of the brilliant theme tune – I want to say it had a piano and a harpsichord in, but I might be lying, in which case the question of which tv show it was that did have that combination is now going to bug me). Murder She Wrote. Oh my goodness, I’m sure I’ve missed lots.
The previous paragraph (which in contrast to most of my paragraphs, I now note, actually has a decent thesis statement) is simply meant to try and bring my heart rate down. It’s not really working.
Lest you all think that my father inflicted some sort of psychological trauma on me, I should also note that we would watch Coast, Blackadder and Noel’s House Party (though the entire household RUED THE DAY that Mr. Blobby got to No. 1 in the charts. RUED, I tell you).
To wit: I SHOULD NOT BE AS SCARED BY A TRIFLING CRIME SERIES AS I AM RIGHT NOW.
You bring a child up around horses. He is never scared of horses.
You have a pet dog in the house since a child’s earliest days. He is never afraid of dogs.
You take a child out walking on high moorland since his third birthday. He is never afraid of hiking.
WHY THEN AM I SO FREAKING FREAKED OUT BY A TV EPISODE?
Ok, all this proves nothing except that ITV can do a good job – and that without licence payers’ money. GO SUCK ON THAT AUNTIE ANTI-CATHOLIC BEEB.
Ok. I think I might be able to press Play again now. But first I might need to make another cup of tea….