The Next Step

The next step is to find a church to belong to.

There's one just up the road

But it isn't medieval. The nearest medieval church is in Ashton. Mmmm- the legend of St Helena in glorious, 15th century , stained glass.

Remember what the Archbishop said in his New Year Address to the Nation; the church isn't buildings, it's people.

You mean old Beardy, the Welsh Windbag?

Calling him names is childish- and doesn't affect his argument.

But that's the other thing; I don't like people. And Christians are the worst of all

How so?

Oh, you know.  Do I really have to spell it out? They're all hypocrites-  and misogynists- and homophobes- and racists. And they go on about Jesus all the time. *Shudders*. You can laugh at me wanting to worship in an ancient building, but it's a deep, spiritual thing- I want to commune with the ancestors.

And the ancestors weren't entirely as ghastly as people today? Ask your friend, the medieval peasant, for his opinion of bougeres and women priests.  Think of the present generation as the ancestors of tomorrow.

Oh, very clever. * Claps ironically.*  But you just don't understand...

Jonathan Creek: The Grinning Man

I love a locked room mystery- and this was a good one.

I miss Caroline Quentin. Did she leave under a cloud or something?  Creek's line last night about "Carla and the other one" seemed distinctly ungenerous. She and Davies were a great Holmes and Watson act.

I miss Anthony Head too. The guy who took over as the oily magician is- well- just too oily.

Two hours was too long. I mean, that's half an hour longer than a regular, old-style, feature film. The subplot- about Mr Oily and the pneumatic porn actress was very broad-brush- and it was hard to see why it was there except as padding. Creek is fluff- and you don't need fluff to last two hours.

Sheridan Smith is fun. I'd be very happy if Renwick were to write more episodes- and she stayed on board.