As Betty and I are gearing up for our trip to England, Ireland, and Scotland in the spring, we've been comparing notes on glimpses of the beautiful views of countrysides and villages we've seen on our screens. We've both clocked in enough hours watching detectives pursuing murder suspects through serene English villages that we're pretty sure we'll do okay driving there.
Betty's now watching Poirot and Miss Marple. I was up til 3 am watching the finale of five seasons of DCI Banks.
You know watching murder mysteries, even those from the BBC that are less predictable than this one was, that the bad guys (usually guys, but not always) will be caught. But in DCI Banks, they string you along for five seasons with the possibility of a romance between Alan and Annie, partner detectives. which adds sparks to the mystery. I love romance--even more than solving murders--but both are vicarious experiences in my world at the moment.
You have to have wonder how murder can even happen in such pristine green places, but apparently they do--as do drug habits, mental illness and outright cruelty.
But the police are so polite, usually taking in their suspects without guns, always with this caution:
“You do not have to say anything. But, it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence.”
So should I be arrested for anything while visiting the UK, I'll know the words beforehand. And I'll know to call my solicitor straight away and respond with "No comment" if I have something to hide.
Should I accidentally start a fire while making chocolate chip biscuits, I'll know to call the fire brigade--not 911.
And if I want to have some time alone, I'll "keep myself to myself."
If someone offends me, I'll call him a "#!@ing sod."
And if I need to pursue another car on the left side of the road, or speed through a roundabout--I think I've got that covered, too.
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