don't fear the reaper.

This is a murder-themed blog post. I thought I'd tell you upfront in case you think I'm an oddball and want to leave it at that. I didn't want you to get half way through and realise that there was a recurring theme running through it, and that the theme in question was just a little bit strange. It also contains 'Sherlock' spoilers. Don't say I didn't warn you.

They have Midsomer Murders here in Italy. It's called 'L'ispettore Barnaby' and is dubbed rather than subtitled. This may seem irrelevant, but it actually makes a lot of difference to some programmes. For example, Grey's Anatomy dubbed into Italian is just as enjoyable, whereas MTV's 'Disaster Date' when dubbed has all the fun sucked out of it. Inspector Barnaby's adventures seem to gain something in the Italian language, and everything seems a little bit more dramatic. I would imagine those living in big Italian cities however, find it somewhat difficult to relate to the lives of those living in quaint British countryside.

Sherlock was incredible. The last series was definitely good television, but this was just exceptional. I started watching it at home with Tom, Cait and Cindy, and finished it sitting alone in my bedroom in Rome, but both times, I was equally hooked. Anybody who doesn't find both Martin Freeman and Benedict Cumberbatch supremely attractive is maybe a little bit deranged (or likes men who are slightly less angular of face). And now the internet is buzzing with theories of how the great man faked his own death. I have to say, I was a little bit angry that he wasn't dead. I feel the BBC cheated some tears out of me (who wouldn't well up a little at the sight of a very forlorn John Watson unashamedly grieving the death of his best friend) and felt silly for getting so worked up! My anger is not enough to prevent me from really really looking forward to the next series though. I'm sure I will be just as enthralled.

This interesting collection of pictures appeared on the Guardian website the other day. I scrolled through with morbid fascination. I hope you will do the same.

The thing is, I love detective programmes, Agatha Christie novels and that Roald Dahl story where the old lady ran a B&B and stuffed all the guests. I guess what I'm asking is your opinion on whether this is really weird, or if I might indeed turn out normal rather than some vengeful, leg of lamb-wielding housewife. Comment is welcome.

I'll leave you with a pointless gif of Benedict Cumberbatch taking his scarf off. You are welcome!

back on track.

I spent last term in a haze of missing home too much, not drinking enough, not working enough, not speaking enough Italian, not blogging enough (or at all), not reading enough. There is a big ol' list of 'not enoughs', but this term, everything is going to change. Today, I am going for a run, applying for jobs and drinking lots of coffee. This wave of productivity/caffeine has got me feeling really good. I have six months left in Rome. Better make them count!

So it's been a while! Last time I wrote on here, we were in the midst of riots and a warmer climate. Since then, not all that much has changed. Except for the riots and the climate. My mother got "engaged", and while my prospective stepfather leaves a lot to be desired, in theory, I am happy for them and I wish them well (seriously though, who gets engaged at the ripe old age of fifty six!?). Along with half of the population, I bit the bullet and got a Kindle. I was on the fence, but I'm really glad I did because I am reading so much more already. I went to Tom's for Christmas, which was absolutely lovely, though it did mean that due to the legendary Moore hospitality, I ate far too much. This would have been fine, except a couple of days later, my lovely friends Eilish and Bob got married, and I had to not look enormous in my purple bridesmaid's dress! I'm not sure I managed. Eilish on the other hand looked absolutely stunning, and I've never seen two people with bigger grins on their faces.

That's about it really! I came back to Rome about a week ago, and I'm rather enjoying myself. It's sunny and cold, and oh-so Italian. Everyone wears these massive puffer jackets; belted, quilted monstrosities which turn even the most glamorous of women into the Michelin Man, all tutting as they see us silly Brits strutting round in light jackets. The older women waddle around under the weight of their huge fur coats, and the men blow-dry their hair, all for fear of getting a cold.

They might just have the last laugh though, as I'm feeling a little bit sniffly...

So there you have it, a cheeky little update for those of you still interested. A few people asked me to resume writing on here, but I told them I thought maybe the time had passed. I guess I was wrong!



This was in Sherlock last night. Can they do no wrong? Also, Benedict Cumberbatch - phwoar.