Tonight is the season finale of Downton Abbey, the show everybody else is watching who doesn't have Netflix. Like most people who adore public television, I have been a loyal subject, though I admit to be getting a tich weary of its meanderings, not to mention the colors teal and mauve. Surely, the wealthy at the turn of the century could have afforded a little pig's blood. Anyway, this season has become a bit ridiculous, not like the shocker from the previous season which involved the expedition of three characters, the result of contract disputes or boredom. Downton is becoming a tired soap opera of church bazaars, endless, faceless and uninteresting suitors and agrarian discussions. Should Downton diversify from sheep to pigs? Should the pudding be fig or bread? It's all getting so pedestrian, what with all the milling, drinking and eating. And standing. In tails. And smoking. Even Maggie Smith can't save Downton Abbey , though she certain...
More than a million served!