Despite being on a very tight budget in an attempt to pay our new kitchen instal-ments without extending the mortgage (feel free to mock our touching optimism), the Prof recently brought home the second series of Buffy the Vampire Slayer on dvd.
I don’t intend to write too much about this because when it comes to lovin’ the Buff you’re either in or you’re out and ever since that sad sad day the Slayer rode the last bus out of the smoking crater that was Sunnydale, I have no desire to convince anyone else of her endearing merits.
The Buff, she is no more, but her re-runs live forever.
The point (and there is one) is that just as Kim soaks up the joy tht is America’s newest supertroll, I steep like a Twinings teabag in the blissful escapism that is Buffy.
I am steeping now, as I type, and Buffy’s south american exchange student just had the life-force sucked out of him by a 500 year old Inca mummy.
Seriously, with the kids all asleep, a bellyfull of salmon in cumin with tossed warm salad of asparagus and tomato, a really delicious and ridiculously cheap bottle of reisling, and now the Buff – Saturday nights just don’t get much better than this.