My schedule yesterday, planned well in advance, always included me settling down with my partner in front of the television at 8.30pm – if not before – to watch the final episode of three in the latest Sherlock television series broadcast on BBC1.
Having gone for a jog shortly after breakfast, attended Matins at my local church, flicked through the Sunday newspapers and prepared the Sunday roast, I have to confess that curling up on the sofa, our faithful hound Benton at our feet, to enjoy a mid-afternoon nap was a welcome guilty pleasure.
Having later dealt with a tearful telephone call from my eldest daughter Helen, who announced that she had contracted her second STD of this academic year, we partook of a couple of biscuits with Stilton and a glass of red wine in the early evening. Shortly after 8.00pm, I was left alone to do my Sherlock homework.
Sadly, after about twenty minutes, despite finding the plot as intriguing as any this season, I kept finding myself weaving in and out of slumber. Finally, at 9.00pm, I rose – switched off the television, having checked that the episode was on ‘record’ – and disappeared to bed.
Accordingly, I must report this morning that my forthcoming review of the final episode of Sherlock will have to wait until I have found the time to watch the recording …