I am disarmingly close to mortification. There is only one episode left of Monarch of the Glen. EVER. I warmed to this sunday night dollop of absolute rot out of irony. I was trying to be clever. Just like 'Cutting it' (although I have since quit this alarming habit) what started as a joke became a serious penchant.
M.O.G, just like the Antique Road Show, began to symbolise the changing of the season. As summer drew to a close and autumn wrapped its bronze arms about me, the tv would be filled with lochs and bagpipes. What am I to do now? I can't stand anything with Pauline Quirke in and have never expressed an interest in Heartbeat. Where will boss eyed Susan Hampshire ply her trade now? She will join Wendy Craig on the scrap heap. I've come accustomed to her face, all be it in soft focus and sensitively shot.
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