Bridge over troubled waters

 Watched the infamous P.S. I Love You the other night. Again. Don't know why I voluntarily put myself through that over and over again. Even I know that in my current, fragile emotional state that's like the last thing I should be watching.

I went to see it at the cinema and by the time we were done with the movie trailers (think serial killers and genocides and fallen superheros and moon Nazis; all coming to a cinema near you- aren't you lucky!) I had already gone through all my tissues. By the time the actual film started I had to restore to blowing my nose on the seat next to mine...

Ah, the agony of having found your true love and then losing it. In such a cruel, unexpected manner! Though, are there any other ways...? I don't know what it is that gets my tear ducts working overtime; the fact that there are love stories like that out there and they stubbornly seem to evade me or the fact that I think I might have found mine (a very poor man's version, obviously- more like a Korean straight-to-DVD rendition of it...) and already dread the day I will lose it?

Uhh, uhh. 

Must say it does beat the Danish detective stories I've been busy losing my sleep over in Spain though. Don't get me wrong, they're absolutely brilliant, but what is wrong with that country? The continuously appear on the list of happiest countries in the world and they all love their chain-smoking Queen- when they're not busy chain-smoking those dreadful Princes (that's the local cigarette brand of choice, not a royal offspring. I would hate to see them go up in smoke- even the lesser members of the Royal Family seem so disgustingly... balanced and wholesome) themselves or stuffing their face with pølses, their beloved hotdogs.

 Apparently the Danes eat them so much that the average annual consumption comes to about 3 a day. Every day. Per each Dane. Which means... that when you exclude the mandatory vegetarians, token Hare Krishnas and random Muslims... you're still left with a portion that has got the concept of 5 a day tragically wrong.

Anyway, the Danes seem to be behind every decent detective story these days. First there was The Killing, all 234 episodes of it. Then there was the second season. And now there's The Bridge. I love them dearly, but what's with the women? They're perfect tens alright- on the Asperger's scale!