They say there are three telltale signs of ageing: the first that you can no longer eat pizza after sundown, second that you invariably go ‘oof!’ every time you sit in an armchair. And I can’t remember what the third one is.
It is those memory lapses that will do for me yet. I often complain that I can’t think of anything to write about when the truth is that I have thought of things and then promptly forgotten about them.
Like Homeland. This much acclaimed series arrived on UK television on Sunday and I made a point of watching it since it sounded like my kind of plot and to give me something to write about. But by Monday morning, it had gone clean out of my head.
That is no criticism of the production or the plot, just my failing memory.
It was quite an eye-opener with its soft-porn sex scenes and industrial language which isn’t something I normally associate with American television, but the script was a good one, as you’d expect from Alex Gansa (X-files and 24).
Claire Danes was convincing as flakey CIA agent Carrie Mathison, even if it is disquieting to imagine the security of the west in such unstable hands. And Damian Lewis did a lot of brooding as returning hero/terrorist Nicholas Brody looking not unlike Steve McQueen without the smile.
If I have a criticism it is that most of the characters were far too pretty or handsome to be believable, particularly Morena Baccarin as Brody’s wife.
I also wonder how they’re going to keep up the plot for twelve hours and only hope it doesn’t go the way of 24 where the good guys would switch to being the bad guys from one week to another for no readily apparent reason before switching back again the week after.
Given my memory, that is going to get very confusing.