After a run of days of little to low motivation, today was a little better.

I had actually forced myself to go to bed earlier than I had wanted last night. Lewis was on TV and I had started watching and wanted to see the end.  It was not so much the desire to find out who did it, but the enjoyment of watching a well written, well acted and beautifully shot piece of TV drama.

I should know better.  Morse, the series that spawned Lewis, could arguably be held responsible for changing my life completely.

In the mid-nineties, I was single in my own rented flat, where I was very happy, had a job that I enjoyed – even if I was beginning to find it a little repetitive. My favourite day of the week was Friday, because I would go home, open a bottle of wine and watch Morse.

I am not a huge fan of crime drama – I don’t feel one way or the other about it, but I loved Morse. I loved the relationship between the detective and his side kick; its dynamics. I loved the flaws in the character of the protagonist and the absolute beauty of Oxford – a place that I had always wanted to go to study, but not been able to crack. I loved the games they played – the opening title music plays out the detective’s name in morse code and occasionally reveals that of the murderer in the incidental music of the episode. I loved the care and attention with which it was crafted, down to the distinctive typeface of the opening credits.

I have not really got into Lewis much, although I can see the same production thumb prints over it and love what they have done to switch the dynamic between the two leading characters, but we did recently buy the box set of the first nine seasons, which was reduced in a sale. This is kind of why I avoid it on TV normally, because I would prefer to binge-watch the DVDs.

Last night, however, I got a little sucked in and wanted to keep watching. Given all the ominous symptoms at the moment, I hope it is not a sign. Homesickness is a weird thing. You can list reasons why one place is better then the other, but at the end of the day – just as I did in the mid nineties – if you find yourself repeatedly asking tarot cards or other such hokum what you should be doing, it is probably because your heart already knows the answer but have not yet made the intellectually leap.

I don’t think I want to go back to the UK. I have two dogs for a start and a husband who does not want to move back. Any move costs a bucket load of money – not just the cost of physical relocation but all the other stuff that goes with it, and each time it gets a little harder. Why at my age would I be wanting to leave a relatively easy life to live like a student again is beyond me, especially when I look at the news coming from the UK – which of course, is filtered and probably does not reflect what it actually feels like to live there.

And the autumn weather here is absolutely beautiful. Cool, clear mornings and haze in the sunshine. It is such a short window to enjoy. We are already officially in winter and the rain and wind will begin, but I don’t mind. We have the electric blanket on the bed and two dogs. I will enjoy it while I can.

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