Claimed a couple of hours time in lieu this afternoon much to the annoyance of My Immediate Superior, who was loath to grant it but couldn't find cause to refuse given the looooong hours I've worked the past several months for the greater good of the company.

Beetled off for an afternoon coffee with friends. Blahblahblah shoes, blahblahblah who-d'you-think killed-the-boy-in Broadchurch,# rhubarbwaffle guess-who-had-cosmetic-surgery, etc.

Coffee turned into gin, the sun went down, and because we're over 40 we all went our separate ways to be home by the 7pm news. Thus is middle age, where one's greatest pleasure for a Friday night is to be on a sofa with thai takeaway watching a be-bearded David Tennant gazing forlornly and mysteriously out to sea while Olivia Colman prances enchantingly on the periphery.

You Brits may scoff, but we know a few months ago you were all doing the same thing, and standing around the office water cooler obsessing about Broadchurch. We in the colonies may be a bit slow for things to get here,* but we're not completely stupid.

_____

# Broadchurch only just started being broadcast in Australia 3 weeks ago.

* Unless it's Dr Who-related, it seems....the announcement of the next actor to play the role will be at 4AM Monday Australian Eastern Standard Time. We're getting a live simulcast... who in the name of God is going to set their alarm for 3.55AM just to leap out of bed and turn on the telly to find out the name of the next Doctor? Not this little black duck!!