My obsession with ‘Slow Horses’ hasn’t fizzled out yet. Honestly I’ll be glad when it does. It’s taken me over. My life is not my own. Having watched the two series available, I’m now eagerly awaiting series three and four. These are in post production apparently. I’m a bit pissed off that I’ll have to pay for Apple tv to access them at some unspecified time in the nearish future, but that’s modern home entertainment for you, an effing expensive liberty.
Part of the excitement of series two was that loads of the London scenes were filmed around and about my studio, and Slough House, the slow horses office, is local to it too. My local spies!
Don’t worry, I do know they’re not real. Mostly.
I don’t mind spoilers, in fact I like them, so I bought the books. In two weeks I’ve read the five available books, three to seven, not yet released as tv series. The eighth, and I hope last, is on pre order. In addition I’ve read a novella and another book by the same author that involve some of the same characters and introduces new ones.
If that isn’t enough spy centric shenanigans, I’ve also watched, in lieu of new ‘Slow Horses’, ’Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy’. I’ve watched it enough times that I’m confident I actually know what’s going on. Just in case I don’t I’ve bought the book, I can fit that in before number eight arrives.
I don’t find reading the relaxing pass time that others seem to find it. I read like an addict, a word addict, a story addict.
I’ve managed to keep my reading habit mostly to evenings and weekends so my working life is largely uninterrupted. Cornflake barely knows he has a wife. I’m happy to chat while drawing, writing or tv watching but, do not interrupt me while I’m reading, thank you.
I’ve promised myself and my husband that once I’ve read book eight I’ll go cold turkey, break the habit, get a life.
fat tart 