Binge watching

I slept well, perhaps a little more relaxed and at ease with myself following my afternoon in the hospital surgical assessment unit. I caught up on some writing and finished off getting the Christmas cards ready for the post box. I didn't take them out as it rained all day and I didn't want them to get wet, but I went out for a walk around Pontcanna Fields in any case, and got wet. There was a mild but strong breeze blowing as well, and the exercise invigorated me. Clare got back from Bristol just before I reached home, feeling the effects of a dodgy tummy after eating a takeaway meal with rice last night, so we didn't get around to eating together.

I caught up the fifth episode of Doctor Who on iPlayer, finding Jodie Foster's take on the role interesting to see develop through the series as far as I've got. The storylines are promising but fall down, as much of the dialogue is gobbledegook, delivered too fast. It's full of implausible ideas with a few thoughtful ones thrown in occasionally for good measure. OK, sci-fi requires suspension of disbelief to succeed in engaging and stimulating the imagination, but when it's just ridiculous and confusing, you end up wondering why you bothered to watch it. Once more the ending of the tale was rushed. Is this kids TV written with adults in mind, or adult TV with kids in mind? I believe there are generations of older fans who grew up with Dr Who, so it has as many if not more adult viewers than children, like comic superhero fantasy figures, but is it really worth the mental effort, trying to keep up with it?

Last weekend saw the start of a new American psychological crimmie called 'The Sinner' on BBC Four, while we were dining out at Stefanos. I caught up with episodes one and two tonight before watching episodes three and four. Although that meant three hours continuous watching a slow developing plot, it held my interest and attention throughout. It revealed the hidden life of an vulnerable young woman, kidnapped and drugged for sex and exposed to violence in two months of her life which she cannot remember. In a tragic incident of post- traumatic stress disorder psychosis, she kills someone and admits her guilt although she has no idea why she did it. She has however regarded herself as 'a sinner' since childhood due to an emotionally abusive childhood in a pious family with a toxic spirituality. She'd been sinned against all her life, yet felt nothing but guilt. It's a sadly familiar story, coming to light in our times for women and men from religious homes. It's quite chastening to watch.