I just finished watching the second season of Downton Abbey. I’m happy–things are mainly going well–and sad–it’s over.
“I’m watching it for the hats,” my mother claims.
I’m watching it because I love plot, I love how much of it derives from Upstairs Downstairs, and I love that it is predictable but not totally. Heiress runs off with chauffeur–perfect Nancy Mitford. Central but not too central character dies in flu epidemic–vintage Upstairs Downstairs. (Which I watched again recently after so many years. A bit more episodic than I remember, but still the UR source of so much Masterpiece Theater).
My mother and I were chatting about life. She said something clever, I remarked “You’ve gotten very smart.”
Then we chorused: “It must be Downton Abbey.”