Like a Spiral within a Sweater, Like a murder victim without a face

Jason scootled off earlier in the evening to play poker.

He has been looking after me for the last 24 hours, like the devoted husband he is, and is also letting me bugger off to London with Andrea for the day tomorrow. When he said he wanted to go and play poker I, of course, said yes.

It’s checks and balances in this house. Constant testing.

He had only been gone a few minutes when the warm glow of my utter and selfless (ahem) kindness towards him had worn off, and I suddenly realised that Saturday night is The Killing night.

Then I got the arse.

I did not want to wait for The Killing.  I wanted to watch it right then (even though it wasn’t on right then).  I did not want to be denied, even though I have six million other things to watch, forty seven small projects on hand, a filthy house, and up until that point I had completely forgotten all about it.

Five minutes after that I was burning with resentment so bright you could have powered the entire road for a month.

Nobody ever said I was fair.

Or nice.

I rang him to remonstrate.

His phone went to answering service.

I stomped about, fluffing up cushions and sneering at the cat.

I wrote rude things about him on Twitter.

Then he came back through the door bearing sweets (toffee chocolate eclairs, nom) and ready to watch cool Danish thrillers featuring knitwear with me.

I love he.

I didn’t tell him about writing rude things about him on Twitter.

I may confess later, but only after I have eaten all the chocolate toffee eclairs.

All will be well.

I am off to watch it in a moment.  I am very excited.

In the meantime I thought I would mention that if Danish isn’t your thing, but you still like to be thrilled, we have also started watching the first season of a French series called Spiral.  I know some of you recommended it to me previously. I do listen, honestly, I’m just slow.  Now I have amassed the first season though we’re up and running.

Avec les flics.

Bien sur.

I love it.

Basically, it is sort of like The Killing, only French.

If you’re watching for the sake of knitwear, you will be disappointed in Spiral, and I recommend sticking to the Danish. It’s what they do best.

What is wonderful about Spiral, apart from the fact that it is very gripping, well acted and quite exciting is that it is so very French.

Everyone smokes likes fiends. There was a man in the autopsy room chomping a huge cigar.  The air is permanently blue with the fumes of smouldering Gauloises.

Everyone shrugs and talks at nineteen to the dozen. ‘Hein?’ ‘Quoi?’ etc.

To make up for the lack of jumpers, every lady except the sexy lady flic have fabulous shoes with ridiculous heels that they glide about Paris effortlessly in. They never tread in dog turds (which I know for a fact litter the streets of Paris only slightly less than they litter Belgium), and they never, ever turn an ankle, get their heels caught in a grating, or lean against a lamp post whilst rubbing their ankle bone and saying in French ‘chuffin’ ‘ell. These are killer shoes. Got any Compeed?’

They cannot wear jumpers because this would impede their rate of undress. Yes. It is a fact that you see more naked flesh in one hour of Spiral than you did in twenty hours of The Killing.  So far the naked victim has been shown from every angle except inside out, and despite having her face pulverised with a hammer, all the men are keen to point out that she is extremely beautiful and that if she didn’t have a pulverised face and happen to be upside down in a skip, they’d be happy to give her one.

The lady flic has spent the night with the chap who is supposed to be the translator for the deaf, and the bent cop with a coke habit spends what time he doesn’t have a rolled up ten euro note stuck up his nose, with his hand stuck up his prostitute informer’s skirt.

It’s all sex and shoes and smoking and men with libidos the size of the Eiffel tower driving Renaults up the pavement sideways, usually whilst having a shag and smoking.

It is an immensely entertaining programme. If only it had Gerard Depardieu in it as well, I would probably love it more than The Killing.

But what am I saying?

No.

My loyalty is to the Lund.

Off to catch her sweater.

Laters.