I’m watching Joan Hickson playing Miss Marple in the 4.50 from Paddington. I prefer the Joan Hickson ones to the newer ones with Geraldine McEwen, partly due to the supporting cast. Amanda Holden, for instance, is not very convincing as the housekeeper in the newer version.
As I read that paragraph I realise that I may have spent too much time watching TV. I have certainly spent too much time watching Agatha Christie repeats.
It’s Julia’s fault. She puts them on then drifts out of the room, leaving me with the social dilemma of enduring endless repeats or turning them over and enduring reproachful glances.
That’s the trouble with winter Sunday nights, not much to do. It’s only just over a year (if we last that long) before Julia will stop working on Sundays and we might be able to do something more interesting than slumping in front of the TV.
After serving the stew, I have nothing else to do but watch dull TV and think about get rich quick schemes. I’ve tried the lottery but it hasn’t worked, and I don’t have the energy to look for a second job, so it’s either write a blockbuster or turn to a life of crime.
I think we all know that I’m not in good enough shape to be a cat burglar or bank robber and don’t have the technical skills for cybercrime. As I can’t write anything longer than three lines the blockbuster is unlikely too.
The only bright spot in my future is that a nice widow has written to me. It seems that she wants to give me $10 million from the estate of her late husband, and if I send her my bank details I could have the money by Tuesday.
As one door closes another door opens…