Murder, she wrote

Yesterday, whilst tidying up for a friend's imminent arrival, I decided to switch on the TV for a bit of background relief and on came "Murder, She Wrote" - the long running detective series starring Angela Lansbury as super-sleuth Jessica Fletcher.

I have long been fascinated by this show for it's sheer ridiculousness. Week after week, Jessica gets a call from some nephew, niece or friend she knows either in the US or beyond, and off she trots to meet them. Mere minutes after touch down, she's falling over a dead body.

Presumably, anyone with sense would put the phone down on her as soon as she rang. No amount of "touching wood" can escape her deathly lure. I'm surprised she has any friends at all, as they're either dead, suspects or as good as both, because they're about to get a visit from "dear Jess".

This particular episode, which was feature length, saw Jess outwitting even the FBI. When two agents questioned her over something suspicious that she was involved in, she persuaded the two hapless men to "give me 24 hours" so she could find them their man. They duly obliged like two lap dogs and, true to her word, she handed over the killer ahead of schedule.

Er, this was not before a little "phew" moment though, when Jess was confronted by the killer and almost got the bullet herself. Many an episode finishes with the weapon being turned on her, as she's sniffed out the killer and we've been presented with a lovely flashback sequence filled with close-ups on gloves, twisting door knobs and frantic feet. The killer then realises that nobody else is bright enough to work anything out, including various police forces from US states and Interpol, so if they finish her off now, who's to know? Just as well someone arrives just in time and saves her. Usually it's the unfit local sheriff, who somehow keeps his employment despite lacking in any common sense or training. The only thing he's good for is popping round to see Jess at the end of each episode for a slice of cake, and even then he's interrupting the typing of her next novel.

Then the best bit, as the credits start to roll and the music kicks in, we're treated to a freeze frame of Jess laughing uncontrollably at the sheer insanity of it all and Angela Lansbury, no doubt behind the mask, chuckling for real, not believing her luck that she's getting paid to do all of this and people like me are daft enough to watch it.