I've just watched another first rate episode of the wonderful "Lark-Rise to Candleford". For any non-addicts, should there be any, this is a superbly dramatised and acted version of the best-selling book.
Every character has its own appeal, the controlling master-minding Dorcas but with her vulnerable streak, the sanctimoneous Thomas, batty old twister and his lovely long-suffering sage of a wife, not forgetting the dear ditsy Minnie, several sandwiches short of a picnic, but so endearing.
Every now and then the BBC pulls a rabbit out of the hat rather than a bundle of dead hair(hare), and this is one such.
At one time I would have been ashamed to admit to just how much television I watched, these days it is hard to imagine an evening without at least one habit-feeding dose of addictive TV.
Perhaps it's the enforced solitariness of my existence, or possibly, advancing age, but I no longer feel the need to appear to be doing something worthwhile every minute of the day.
When (if) the weather warms up a little, there will of necessity be hours - weeks - of gardening (I have done nothing for a couple of years, and it shows), but while it is cold, dark and damp no further excuse is needed for me to down-tools, put my feet up and goggle!
Is this wasting my life? I don't know and don't much care. One of the very few advantages of living alone is not having to apologise or explain my behaviour to anyone, and while the BBC offers dramas which can pick up one's spirits like Larkrise they will always have one devoted follower.