Binge watch
Another year has passed. Today, I binge.
We’re back over to spy on the folk at Downton, and although things change, they don’t, really. Always on the edge of a crisis, but when you are terminally polite, there’s no pain. So different from the American cousins; no laugh track, no simple resolution of the world’s issues in just under an hour. I don’t expect to get away before midnight.
Try to imagine a world without blue jeans or hoodies. Nary a sneaker on any foot. No cellphones. Actually, this season saw the introduction of the “wireless”; no, nothing to do with the Internet. We’re light years away from that monstrous concept. But, the food looks good, albeit too slow to meet the plate. Seven courses – that’s a week of meals for some folk.
I’m trying to write, but I keep getting distracted by the whispering at the foot of the stairs, and the comings and goings of people who are clearly overdressed for every occasion (even bed). There was a fist fight, a few minutes ago, but no knives or pistols presented. The best the polite folk could manage was a glare before closing the door, politely.
This binge watching should stop, but I don’t want it to. I know that when we turn away from the spectacle, in an hour or three, there’ll be no new content for another year. By then, I’ll have moved to my country estate, and although no downstairs staff has been engaged, life will change. Maybe I’ll get one of those gongs, or a wall display of twitchy bells… just in case.
