Since I happen to write a fictional paranormal romantic/ historical series set at at an English manor called Draycott Abbey, I am understandably fascinated by the “cultural
juggernaut” that began its sixth series last night.
Yes I am referring to Downton Abbey. Beloved to the point of hysteria, the series has been a part of our lives for five years as we follow the joys and tribulations of the
aristocratic Crawley family. Seeing the servants’ affairs and adversities is more than half
the fun. For me at least.
Did you love the scene of Mary and the dashing Mr. Blake chasing pigs through the mud as much as I did?
But last night we came to the sixth and final season. Bittersweet indeed to know that we do not have many more Sunday nights to spend with the high-born family we’ve come to know and admire.
And I do admit, I was almost tempted to boycott the season.
Yes, boycott. Then I would ALWAYS have the last season shows to watch, tucked away
for a rainy day when I needed them.
But I am afraid my willpower did not hold. Every one of my friends was watching and
talking about the broody plot twists. How could I not join in?
So last night I was at the TV with so many of you. Waiting to see if Mary finally finds happiness. Hoping to watch Mrs. Hughes and Carson find true commitment. (DId not see THAT plot twist coming!) Praying that Tom returns safe and well from across the ocean.
We had a delicious return to Downton last night. We can savor the last, wonderful days of an unforgettable cultural experience with Maggie Smith as reigning queen of correctness and dry wit, while England perches on the edge of huge change.
Unforgettable. But oh so bittersweet.