My yearning for the arrival of Spring runs in parallel to my ever increasing irritation with television “drama”. With the arrival of the long, dark evenings at the beginning of winter I look forward to the change of pace which includes watching television in front of the fire. The story lines seem fresh and the characters entertaining. A more jaundiced view creeps up on me during those long months and I anxiously await the offering that will finally tip me over the edge. The offering was aptly named Casualty. Not apt in the fact that the title alluded to the goings on in an Accident and Emergency department of a, thank God, imaginary hospital, but apt in the terms of its failure to be anything but a casualty. The plot revolved around an insane doctor whose insanity seemed mild compared to that of the Director General of the BBC who sanctioned the broadcast. The insanity combined with the inanity drove me to my bed. Changing channels was not an option; the salt had lost its savour. My last vain hope was that Matthew Kelly would turn into the serial killer that he plays so well, or into his erstwhile persona as a game show host asking the annoyingly demented doctor if she was game for a laugh. Meanwhile Charlie, the male nurse, preyed on my mind. My lasting memory of that actor was his horridly convincing role as a psychopathic IRA killer in a fanciful film about noble mercenaries. Having fed LSD to our hero, Edward Fox, he takes advantage of his hallucinatory state in trying to convince him to cut off his own hand. I’m not sure that Charlie has ever stopped playing that part. The accent has changed, but the eyes are as mad. Waking in a psychiatric ward with Charlie at the bedside would ensure a long stay. Sleep finally gave me escape from these dark thoughts, and I dreamt of the very successful banana tatin that I made yesterday.