I have not died tragically in a charity attempt on Mt. Everest.
(It’s been pointed out that everyone and his great aunts have been clawing up those majestic slopes. Once Blessed Brian’s stomped about on your face you can kiss goodbye to any mountain mystique you had)
No, I simply lost interweb connection for a month. Now I’m virtually back.
Whilst away I’ve been rewatching “Sherlock”. I’ve only re-viewed “Study in Pink” so far, but I’ll write about it now as I remember feeling vaguely disappointed in the following ‘sodes. Casting is perfection, Benedict’s (no formality between us, I did make him a scarf) gaunt, attractive horse bones and luxurious mop marking him apart, Martin Freeman exuding honest likability, Mark Gatiss a mask of aloof menace and so on. Also, this adaptation capably answers the ancient, thistley question of what MensaMan Sherlock sees in certifiable non-genius Watson and it’s here the modern setting really shows it’s worth. Sherlock’s fascination with the violently dead is met with suspicion and his arrogance met with hostility, in such an atmosphere Watson’s straightforward admiration is a refreshment. This praise would be meaningless if it came from the lips of a buffoon (sorry Nigel) but Martin’s Watson is intelligent, brave, quiet, useful, disciplined and companionable. Of course Sherlock wants to split the rent with him.