DCI Banks: The first of a two part crime thriller televised after no less than three abysmal soaps in a row. Are some people's lives so shallow that they need the supposed 'thrill' of being involved in someone else's sordid lives to get their kicks?
Talking points at work, maybe, but they used to be on maybe two evenings a week, now it's like playing hopscotch trying to avoid the plague of them, with Omnibus Editions at the weekends.
Sloping off for a read usually excuses me from suffering the unrealistic withdrawal from crack cocaine by Phil Mitchell, teenage lesbians in Corrie, and the unwelcome return of Alfie Moon and Kat Slater in Ender's. But this cold / cough / sore throat / swollen glands bug came howling back with a vengience yesterday; just when Mrs. B and I thought it was retreating; so sitting in a chair watching that non compos mentis drivel was about all I felt capable of.
And when they had finally disappeared over the horizon of disappointment, the long, hard, road to the widely advertised DCI Banks drama didn't live up to expectations.
Yes, it's the hackneyed five schoolgirl's have gone missing, and some misfit who beats his wife, and is plugging the neighbour living opposite hum-drum wierd looking lunatic has them dead in his cellar storyline. And when a message on-screen told us the plot had gone back 3 months, and it did, for about 2 minutes, I'm wondering if it's their poor plotting, or my gibbering illness which made the whole thing a disappointment after such a great build-up?
So, here's some Motorhead to get things back in perspective -
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=unFLp8lJ5K0