Most TV I watch these days is bloodthirsty murder. Wire in the Blood is the most gruesome of these. The new season started last Thursday and it's perhaps got a wee bit self-parodic with the new Detective being twice Robson Green's size and a very butch Top, and all the clues pointing to this implausible S&M 'private torture club'. Ah well, all good fun.
Garlic and sapphires in the mud
Clot the bedded axle-tree.
The trilling wire in the blood
Sings below inveterate scars
I also saw the new Poirot on ITV on Sunday night. The first seasons of the Suchet Poirot were a bit Wooster-ish, riding on art deco and silly upper class accents. It has been drifting towards expressionism these last few seasons, and this latest was I thought excellently done, with vicious village snobs and wobbly cameras zooming until you are looking up someone's nostrils in the rain etc. Good stuff. I know they won't do it, but I wish they'd make a new version of her best story - The Murder of Roger Ackroyd - in the new expressionist style, because they threw that one away early on.
And finally I will stick to Taggart come what may, but some of the latest have been the most awfully written trash. I love Robbie and Jackie, and now and again they return to their old form.