High-powered 'literary' translation

Here's an article from The Guardian about translating some of Dan Brown's books:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2020/apr/30/dan-brown-origin-thriller-da-vinci-code-translation-les-traducteurs

Now, many years ago, I read in The Linguist, the journal of the Chartered Institute of Linguists, that the German translator of the Harry Potter books had had a nervous breakdown. So many puns in the names, for one thing.

I had, however, no idea that translators would be locked away to translate Dan Brown books under such a high level of security.

(By the way, I wrote 'literary' in inverted commas, because Dan Brown doesn't really write literature, but he does write page-turners, that's for sure.)

I found it interesting that the publishers felt they had to get the translations of Brown's books out on exactly the same day as the English version appeared because readers wouldn't wait for the translation and would order the English book instead. It just goes to show how widespread the understanding of English is these days.

A sad day for many Germans

I've suddenly realised what day it is today: the last day of April. This means that tomorrow will be the first day of May, a public holiday in Germany. (This is not the case in the UK, though, which pushes Labour Day onto the first Monday of May - can't interrupt big business, can we?)

What I like about the Germans is their philosophy of "Feste feiern wie sie fallen" - "make hay while the sun shines", but literally translated as "celebrate the parties as they fall".

Germans would not push a public holiday onto any other day, which is why, if May Day falls in the middle of the week, they will still party the evening before.

And Germans like to be organised, which is why they even have a name for the partying on 30 April: Tanz in den Mai ("dancing into May").

Originally, though, the dancing was (still is) part of the celebrations of Walpurgis Night, which is the eve of the Christian feast day of Saint Walpurga, an 8th century abbess canonised on 1 May.

According to Wikipedia: Saint Walpurga was hailed by the Christians of Germany for battling "pest, rabies and whooping cough, as well as against witchcraft." Christians prayed to God through the intercession of Saint Walpurga in order to protect themselves from witchcraft.

If you've ever read Goethe's Faust Part I (I did so last year - don't bother), you will have come across the scene in it where the witches dance around a fire on Walpurgis Night. 

From Wikipedia again: In Germany, Hexennacht ("Witches' Night"), the night from 30 April to 1 May, is the night when witches are reputed to hold a large celebration on the Brocken and await the arrival of spring and is held on the same night as Saint Walpurgis Night (Sankt Walpurgisnacht).

These days, however, people just use 30 April as an excuse to go out dancing until the wee hours of the morning. They literally dance until April turns into May. 

This evening, though, is a very sad day - and not just because the weather has turned cold and overcast. No, because of this virus and the so-called 'lockdown', no-one is going to be partying in any venue this year. Sure, we'll all get the day off tomorrow, but it won't feel the same without the previous night's conviviality.

A less frantic life?

I keep reading on The Guardian website how life has slowed down and become less frantic for many people. One stated "It's lovely to just be, instead of just doing ...".

And I'm perplexed because, once again, I seem to be going against the flow of everyone else.

The workload has become less frantic, that is true. I am, however, still getting new work every day.

The rest of the time, though, is chock full of activities - to fill in all that extra time: I'm embroidering the fifth cloth shopping bag this month. I've crocheted six 'spectacle cocoons' (as I call them) from scrap bits of wool found in my sewing cupboard. I've done a small cross-stitch picture of a coastal scene, I've crocheted 4 or 5 'reading blankets' (as I call them, large enough to cover one's legs). And I've hand-sewn 5 face masks from two old pillowcases.

I've finished some courses on OpenLearn and am going through another one on geology and ecology - with two more lined up after that. Thursdays have become National Theatre Live evenings - the next one is in 3.5 hours' time. Mustn't miss that.

I've been practising languages a bit. I've finished two books by Trollope and four books in French. And a couple in German. More points have been added to my Neopets account from playing online games. I've sent off cards to and telephoned lots of people so that they know they're not forgotten.

The balcony has new plants - including a cherry tomato plant (I've eaten three already). Walks have been taken, exercises with Emi Wong on YouTube performed, healthy meals cooked.

I tell you... My free time is hectic, which is why I make sure I have my evening courses (sketching, sewing, singing). Even the ones I teach are less hectic than my hobbies as I just focus on one thing for 90 minutes. I do my courses and spend my Saturday mornings in the library just so that I relax and unwind for a while.

This 'lockdown' is tiring, I tell you. Even a 20 km walk with the walking group is less strenuous.

Bojo's work record so far

This has been taken from a reader's comment on the Guardian website regarding Johnson's work record so far. Brace yourselves...

Appletea

8h ago 

127128

Apologies in advance as this is copied from a below the line comment on the Guardian yesterday but for those who didn't see it I think it sets out Boris's record perfectly. And its worth repeating. I've shared it with people and I would urge people to do the same.

Boris Johnson became PM 10 months ago he's barely been seen by the public.

In that time, Parliament has met for less than 2 months in total.

He started his premiership from Proroguation of Parliament which was later found illegal so he had to reopen the Parliament.

When Wales and the Midlands were hit by floods caused by Storm Dennis, he spent a day at a Manor House in Kent with his gf without visiting the areas.

He didn't care to visit Fishlake, Yorkshire, until 6 day after it had been flooded.

Since then Parliament was closed again for General Election campaign.

PM promised the nation to Get Brexit Done and and on this promise the party was voted back to power.

Then he jetted off to Mustique with his gf.

The Parliament was reopened after Christmas.

Then when the coronavirus crisis started the Parliament was shut down again.

Boris Johnson was caught like a rabbit in the headlights, gave some incoherent speeches,
'shook hands with coronavirus patients' by his own admissions (which turned out to be a lie) and then he fell ill with the virus he himself had let spread.

He went off sick, got hospitalized resurrected over Easter and was discharged to the country residence of Chequers where he spent time with his pregnant gf.

In 2.5 months when his gf will give birth to his umptieth child, he’s already said he will be on parental leave.

And then there will be summer recess.

He has hardly done any work and instead he's been delegating the work to the Cabinet ministers. So far Dominic Raab, Michael Gove, Matt Hancock, Rishi Sunak, Alok Sharma and Robert Jenrick have been taking turns to stand in for him.

And when will he negotiate and deliver Brexit EU-UK Trade Deal?

He's the worst PM this country has ever had.
He wants power but not responsibilities that come with it.
He should resign.

A perfect summary of Boris's career as Prime Minister.
He was lazy as London Mayor and he's even lazier as PM. As long as he is in 10 Downing Street we are f****d. Hopefully, Tory MPs are waking up to what a lazy useless tosser he is and will ditch him - but I'm not holding my breath

The UK is being hit by A, B, C.

As a Guardian reader pointed out a couple of days ago, the UK is being subjected to A, B and C:

Austerity - over 10 years of government cuts to recoup some of the money lost through the financial crisis of 2008, when they had to spend oodles of dosh rescuing the banks.

Brexit - it's nearly 4 years since the vote in June 2016 and, since then, the UK has slipped from being the 5th largest economy in the world to being the 7th largest (India is ranked 5th and France [another EU country] is in 6th place). And as for a deal... What deal? And yet Brexiters said it was going to be "one of the easiest in human history". And finally, we also have...

Coronavirus - a few months of this and all of a sudden, the government has found a 'magic money tree' and is supposedly going to support the economy by providing all sorts of grants and loans to keep companies and hence the economy going. Who is going to pay for it in the end, though? Take a look at what happened in 2008. It won't be the rich.

The virus has been a godsend to the Conservative party: they have a great excuse not to negotiate any further. They want a 'hard Brexit' and they are on course to have just that in January 2021.

If the government can't, at present, while it is still in the EU, enjoying all the benefits of the EU, sort out the lack of PPE, get enough ventilators, carry out a sufficient number of tests for them to be meaningful, and organise the picking of crops on UK farms, how on earth is it going to cope in January?

Brexiters claim that they are in the best country in the world and can cope with everything with their so-called 'Dunkirk spirit' (failing to appreciate that Dunkirk was a retreat, a withdrawal, an evacuation of troops and not a battle in which the enemy was defeated).

The present situation doesn't bode well for the future.


P.S. I'm just back from a quick early Sunday morning walk before I settle down to kick two texts into shape and before I start to do that, I checked some readers' comments on The Guardian website. I came across this quote cited by one of them and, yes, he really did say that:

Napoleon Bonaparte — 'In politics, stupidity is not a handicap.'

The air is definitely cleaner - here's how I can tell.

Whenever I want to sit out on the balcony, with my feet up on the railing, a cup of coffee in one hand, a book in the other, I have to wipe down the chair and table that are permanently outside.

When I do so, I see black streaks of soot and dirt on the white plastic table top. These days, though, the level of dirt is much reduced. What I wipe off these days is mostly yellow - pollen.

Coronavirus is great for the environment, it seems. But not so great for the economy. You win some, you lose some.

I thought face masks were for the face?

Maybe I'm being a bit obtuse, but I thought face masks were supposed to cover your nose and your mouth completely.

So why am I seeing lots of old people along with lots of frail middle-aged people with face masks on their chin or even their necks? A couple have them pushed high up on their foreheads.

Now Asians.. Asians know how to wear face masks. Even before this crisis, as soon as an Asian person gets a cold, on goes the face mask. It doesn't matter what the weather is like...even when it's hot and sunny, the face mask stays firmly over their nose and mouth. Even the youngest Asian teenager can manage this.

And I'm seeing lots of teenage Germans who know where to place a face mask on their fizzog. And they don't take it off or push it up or down when they're all alone in the street either.

For heaven's sake, if you have to wear a face mask because you're in a high-risk group and you are actually lucky to get your hands on one, then use it properly. Anything else looks ridiculous.

Bye, bye, neighbours. See you in six months.

I work from home. As I sit close to the window on my left, I often look outside to give my eyes a bit of a rest from the computer screen.

One thing that never fails to amaze me is how leafy this street is. Even though I'm on the second floor, as soon as the leaves on the lime trees lining this street on both sides unfurl in the spring, I see less and less of the other buildings in the street. Even this morning, I could see a bit of white wall on the other side of the street and now that the leaves have grown a few millimetres bigger, it's completely out of sight. I could sit here and work completely naked and no-one would be the wiser!

No longer can I see the massive TV screen of the Indian family opposite me, a TV that never seems to be switched off. Even when I get up in the middle of the night and look out, it's on. No longer can I see the even more massive TV screen of the young Muslim man next to the Sikh family. Has he never heard of curtains? I can't even see the roof-top balconies of the buildings on the main street. It's wonderful. 

All I see when I look out of my office window is a sea of green leaves. And it'll stay like that until they turn bright yellow and fall off in the autumn. Until then, dear neighbours, bye, bye. See you in six months.

Summer in spring. Oh, dear.

Everyone likes sunshine and no rain. One can, however, have 'too much of a good thing'.

We've had no significant rainfall for weeks. Temperatures this coming week will be in the low 20 degrees Celsius with no rain forecast. Rather like last week, and the week before that, and the week before that.

Newspapers are already remarking on the lack of rainfall. The town of Viersen is encouraging its residents to chuck a bucket of water or two over the plants in the streets. "They'll thank you for it," the town authorities claim.

Topsoil is becoming like dust. Walk in the park and you'll come back with very dusty shoes. No point in cleaning them; they'll just get dusty on the next walk.

In 2009, I went on a two-week bus tour: one week around Syria, one around Jordan. In the first week, we set off from Damascus, heading east towards Palmyra. For hours and hours and hours, all we could see stretching far into the distance was dust, sandy-coloured dust. Not a shred of green anywhere apart from a few blades of grass near a building. The only bit of relief from the sandy-coloured dust came from the black plastic shopping bags that had got caught in the sand and were waving merrily in the wind. Loads of them.

I had left Germany in April, when the buds were just about on the trees. I returned two weeks later in April and the trees were all in leaf. I walked through my local park, went on a bike ride to and around the lake called Unterbacher See and all throughout I marvelled at how green everything was. Basically, 40 shades of green.

And then I realised how silly I had previously been, always wanting to have fine sunny weather. Without the rain, we would have deserts as they have in eastern Syria. With it, we have the lush green landscapes of northern Europe. Since then, I've not complained about rain.

I'm complaining about the rain now, though: we don't have enough of it. And that's bad.

The envy of the world?

"The envy of the world" is what a lot of British people call the NHS, the National Health Service, the publicly-funded healthcare system that, since 1948, has been funded out of general taxation. "Free at the point of delivery" means that patients are not presented with a bill at the doctor's surgery or in a hospital, although they do have to pay for some charges levied by dentists and opticians, and pay for prescriptions (not in Wales, though). Everyone living in the UK is eligible for treatment, no matter how rich or how poor, whether you're working or not. Each of the four countries in the UK has its own national health service and are independent of each other. 

However, the coronavirus pandemic has catapulted the NHS and its staff and system into the limelight, and the eyes of the world are regularly focused upon it.

From where I'm sitting, I find what is happening over in the UK quite incredible. Mind-boggling. The envy of the world cannot supply its staff with enough personal protective equipment (PPE) to keep them safe. Many doctors, nurses and other staff members have died looking after British patients. Here are some of them:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/health-52242856

Note how many are not British born. They are the kind of people that Brexit voters would like to see kicked out of the country. "British jobs for British people." That's their mantra.

And then funding... Over the years, the current party in power, the Conservatives, also called 'Tories", a slang 17th century Irish word for 'highwayman', cut funding to the NHS left, right and centre.

Take a look at this: https://nhsfunding.info/symptoms/10-effects-of-underfunding/cuts-to-frontline-services/
From which I quote the following: The budget for public health services is now £850 million lower than in 2015/16 and by 2021 the budget will have been cut by 25% from its 2015/16 level in real-terms.

Or read what Polly Toynbee had to say about this recently. (I apologise in advance for the distressing photo of a moronic, obese oaf at the top of the page: 

https://www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2019/oct/25/boris-johnson-conservatives-nhs-funding

Nurses now need to pay to do a three-year training course, which means they won't be earning any money for three years and will be in debt by the end of it. The shortage of nurses already stands at 43,000. And don't forget the Brexit voters - they don't want foreigners working in the UK. "British jobs for British people."

Funding...the coronavirus crisis has seen about £50 million raised or donated by various people, including a 99-year-old pensioner who originally wanted to raise £1,000 by walking round his garden 100 times. He's now achieved this and, because so many people have donated money, he said he will keep on going until they stop. So far he has raised £21 million:

https://www.bbc.co.uk/news/uk-england-beds-bucks-herts-52333127

Or the 'toff', the current Duke of Westminster, the richest man in the UK, who has donated £12.5 million.
https://www.theguardian.com/money/2020/apr/15/duke-of-westminster-donates-nhs-coronavirus-fight-hugh-grosvenor

Or Hans Rausing, the Swedish Tetrapak millionaire, who has donated £16.5m, with another £9m to come in the next 6 months. Another bloody foreigner. How can Brexit voters accept such money?

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-8164985/Tetrapak-billionaire-Hans-Rausing-wife-Julia-donate-16-5million-fight-against-coronavirus.html

And the best thing is that...this money cannot be spent on PPE as donated money cannot be spent on 'core' NHS work, only on 'extras'. 

https://www.dailymail.co.uk/news/article-8231259/Britain-raised-50million-NHS-not-one-penny-protective-gear.html

Fortunately, Turkey, that country so hated by Brexit voters as they assume that the entire population of that country is just waiting to join the EU so they can all decamp to the UK where they will simultaneously 'sponge off the state' and 'take away our jobs'...Turkey donated two loads of PPE to the UK. My God.. how that must stick in the craw of Brexit voters:
https://www.hurriyetdailynews.com/turkey-sends-second-batch-of-medical-supplies-to-uk-153778

And the Bundeswehr, the German Armed Forces, yes, those bloody Nazis, the people that make Brexit voters foam at the mouth, donated 60 ventilators to the UK:
https://www.defenseone.com/ideas/2020/04/no-military-has-done-more-corona-stricken-allies-germanys/164671/

One in 7 people who enter hospital with the coronavirus die; 50% of those coronavirus patients who end up in intensive care die.

The envy of the world? Seriously? That shambles?

And the country is being led by a buffoon who thought that the rules did not apply to him. He shook hands with coronavirus patients when he visited a hospital and he and his colleagues did not stick to the rules of 'social distancing' at 10 Downing Street. Rules don't apply to him. Oh, no. 

Then he ends up in an NHS hospital, being looked after by a female nurse from New Zealand and a male nurse from Portugal. More bloody foreigners. And he is still insisting on Brexit in January. Come hell or high water. He should be made to pay for his treatment, seeing as how he didn't stick to the rules. Moron. An absolute disgrace of a 'national leader'. He should be ashamed of himself. The problem is that he doesn't have the self-awareness to realise jsut how awful his behaviour is. 

There are things I do not like about the German health system, and I may touch on that in the future, but, frankly, I am very glad I am sitting over here watching the ship that is the UK sinking slowly. And just wait and see what happens after 1 January next year, when the ship hits the iceberg that is Brexit.

I shop...therefore I am?

Today, for the first time since 5 April, I walked further than the supermarket and the market stands - all the way to the main station, just to drop a card into a letterbox in front of the main post office and pick up some money.

On the way back, I noticed that an ice-cream parlour opposite the station was open, so I spontaneously decided to treat myself to some ice-cream (and help keep the place open, of course). I stood there in front of the dozen or so varieties and spent a pleasant moment deliberating what to get. In the end, I opted for cassis, coconut and lemon. Then I hung around the square in front of the station, in the sunshine, enjoying my purchase.

After that, I wandered into Press & Book, the large newsagent's in the main station and was in seventh heaven. Any time I get close to a shop with that many books, my eyes sort of glaze over and I enter into a sort of transcendental trance, almost as though I were being hypnotised by them.

I was directed to where there was a handful of books in French, finally selected two (this year's resolution is to read 2 books in French every month), and then picked up a German book that caught my eye (to add to the three bought there on 5 April) and queued up to pay.

Afterwards, I wandered into the drugstore and picked up some of my usual things there. And I suddenly realised, standing in front of the array of bath salts, how lovely it was to be able to pick and choose things.

I'm not fond of shopping - unless it's for books or food - but I really appreciate now (since this so-called 'lockdown') having choice: the choice to wander about wherever I please, the choice to buy this product or that or not, as the case may be.

Most of my German family happened to find themselves in East Germany when the Wall went up and I've seen the paroxysms of ecstasy my German great-aunt went into when she picked up a bag of oranges to take back home with her after she had attended my Opa's funeral in what was then West Berlin. They had very little choice over there. Most of the time, the choice was 'take it or leave it'. Often, if they saw people queuing up at a shop, they joined the queue even if they didn't know what the queue was for, but with things so scarce, buying anything was a victory for them. They were sure they could find a use for it, or exchange it for something they did want.

I also remember the thrill of having 10 pence to spend as a child at the sweet counter of the local post office in Wales. That was good practice in mental arithmetic: if I bought 2 rhubarb and custard sweets for a penny each, a blackjack and a flying saucer for a penny each, then I'd maybe still have enough for a sherbet dab. Actually just standing there, thinking up all possible combinations for 10 pence was pleasurable. Until you made your choice, the universe of your 9-year-old self contained unlimited possibilities.

And it's the same now when one goes into a shop. No matter how restricted your purse may be, there is usually a choice that can be made and every choice you make reveals something of yourself to others...and to yourself. 

'Akzent' and 'Dialekt' are not synonyms

I'm reading a book in German by Bernd-Lutz Lange, anecdotes about his life growing up in Germany, which, after the war, became the GDR, the delightfully misnamed 'German Democratic Republic'.

And one of his short articles reminds me how many Germans seem to believe that 'accent' and 'dialect' are the same things.

This normally becomes evident when they first meet me and they hear me speak German. The conversation generally goes like this.

"Sind sie Engländerin?/Kommen Sie aus England?" ("Are you English?/Do you come from England?")

"Nein, ich komme aus Grossbritannien, aber ich bin nicht Englisch." ("No, I'm from Great Britain, but I'm not English.") They then generally overhear the second part of that sentence.)

"Dass dachte ich mir. Sie sprechen mit einem englischen/britischen Dialelkt." ("Thought so. You speak with an English/British dialect."

"Nein, ich spreche keinen Dialekt. Ich spreche Hochdeutsch mit einem englischen Akzent." ("No, I don't speak any dialect. I speak standard German with an English accent."

Then they look confused.

"Ich kann aber den berlinerischen Dialekt ein wenig verstehen und sprechen. Schrippe, Bullette, Stulle..." ("I can, however, understand some of the Berlin dialect. Bread rolls, beefburgers, sarnie...")

They continue to look confused; they've still not figured out the difference.

"Schauen Sie mal. Akzent ist wie man die Worte ausspricht. Sie hören, dass ich aus Grossbritannien komme. Dialekt bezieht sich auf die Worte man benutzt. Weck, Semmel, Brötchen, Schrippe.. die sind alle Dialektworte." ("Look. Accent is the way you pronounce the words. You can hear that I come from Britain. Dialect is about the words you use. Batch, barm, bap or cob... they're all dialect words for bread roll.")

The Celtic Kraut...setting the Germans right word by word.

The pleasures of 'senile Bettflucht'

I first came across the phrase 'senile Bettflucht' (age-related insomnia; literally 'senile bed flight') a couple of years ago when I was complaining to my long-standing friend Dagmar about how I was waking up much too early. Sure, I had 6 to 7 hours of sleep, but was waking up at 4.30 or 5.30 in the morning normal? I'd never done it before in the past.

Now, I am far from being senile and rather than fleeing from my bed, I stay put in it until I've had at least one cup of coffee. 

In the past, I used to try and get to sleep again, but generally gave up after half an hour. I'd try taking sleeping tablets the night before, all sorts of things. But then I realised that I was getting enough sleep after all. If I fall asleep at 10 these days, then it's no wonder I'm awake at 4.30. When I was teaching full-time, I would fall asleep at 11.30 and would have to be up by 5.30 or 6.00 at the latest so I could start teaching in some company at 8 in the morning. Basically, I'm getting the same amount of sleep as before.

Nowadays, when I wake up at 4.30, as I did today, I rejoice. As my 80-year-old friend Peter says, when he wakes up that early, he just thinks, "Great - more reading time." So I put the coffee machine on and sit there in bed until about 6.30, with one of the curtains open and enjoy reading, sipping on the first coffee of the day (the best coffee of all) and watching the sky lighten. 

I managed to fit in studying for a BSc by simply waking up half an hour earlier on a working day and reading what I had to get through that day in bed with coffee before getting washed, dressed and leaving the house at 7 in the morning. I'd re-read it all on the Tube and when I got to work at 8.15, I'd have breakfast, read the papers and start work 15 minutes early at 8.45. This is why I like to called the Tube 'my study'. 

The Germans say "Morgenstund hat Gold im Mund" (the morning hour has gold in its mouth). Which is very much along the lines of former US president Benjamin Franklin: Early to bed and early to rise, makes a man healthy, wealthy and wise'.

I'm not sure whether its making me wealthy and wise, but it does mean I can still fit in a couple of hours of reading every day. And since reading has always given me the greatest pleasure in life, then this 'senile Bettflucht' is rather pleasurable. Right?

By rights, I should be a serial killer by now...

...what with all the training I've had over the years.

As all my evening classes - the ones I teach and the ones I do - have all been cancelled and I've been working as fast as I can waggle my fingers over a keyboard until tiredness sets in, I've been working my way through all 10 series of Death in Paradise in the course-free evenings these last few weeks.

There's  one murder - sometimes two - in each episode and there are around 80 of them. All of them are very cleverly committed and then explained by the detective inspector - who also helpfully points out where they went wrong and what made him realise that the death was a murder rather than a mere accident or case of suicide.

When I look back over the years, I realise I must have seen thousands of murders. Thousands of them in all sorts of TV series. To be more precise...Jason King, The New Avengers, The Professionals, Quincy, The Streets of San Francisco, McCloud, Kojak, Barnaby Jones, Cannon, Charlies Angels, Columbo, Hawaii 5-0, Ironside, Starsky and Hutch, The Rockford Files, S.W.A.T, Vegas, Hart to Hart, B.J. and the Bear, The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes, Agatha Christie's Poirot, Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars, Bergerac, Bones, The Bridge, Cagney and Lacey, Castle The Chinese Detective, CHiPs, Cracker, CSI: Miami, CSI: NY and some CSI: Los Angeles, Dalgliesh, Dalziel and Pascoe, Dempsey and Makepeace, Diagnosis: Murder, Endeavour, Father Brown, Foyle's War, The Gentle Touch, Hamish Macbeth, a bit of Heartbeat, Hetty Wainthropp Investigates, the marvellous Hill Street Blues, In the Heat of the Night, Inspector George Gently, Inspector Lewis, Hinterland, Hidden, Inspector Lynley, Inspector Montalbano, Inspector Morse, Inspector Wexford, Spiral, Jonathan Creek, some of Judge John Deed, Juliet Bravo, some of Kavanagh QC, the absolutely magnificent Law & Order (US) and some of the UK series of the same name, Les petits meutres d'Agatha Christie, Luther, Lucifer, McDonald & Dodds, McGyver, Magnum P.I., Miss Marple, Matlock, McMillan and Wife, The Mentalist, Miami Vice, Midsomer Murders, Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries (from Australia, Monk, Moonlighting, Murder She Wrote, the excellent Murdoch Mysteries (from Canada), some of The Mysteries of Laura, my beloved NCIS, New Tricks, The Bionic Man, The Bionic Woman, Petrocelli, The Protectors, Psych, Randall and Hopkirk (Deceased), Remington Steele, the fun that is The Republic of Doyle (from Canada), The Rockford Files, Rosemary and Thyme, Rumpole of the Bailey, The Ruth Rendell Mysteries, The Saint, Scott and Bailey, Shakespeare and Hathaway, Sherlock, Shetland, Silent Witness, Simon & Simon, the series that meant I held my breath for an entire episode... Spooks, the great Taggart, The Mentalist, A Touch of Frost, Van der Valk, the wonderful Vera, Waking the Dead, Whitechapel, Wire in the Blood, Wallander, Wycliffe, and Zen.     

I've probably missed a couple of series.. and then there are all the films, books, audiobooks and radio dramas on top of them.

They were all immense fun, some completely absorbing, but I often wonder how I turned out to be so normal after all seeing all those deaths?😀