Forget flowers delivered to the office; hand-written notes sent through the post; sky-written declarations over London’s pre-dusk skyline: there’s a new ultimate declaration of love and commitment for the post-PVR generation, and it’s not watching an unseen episode of your mutually favourite box set without your partner.
There’s quite a lot that The Writer and I have worked our way through since we started seeing each other. First I leant him all seven seasons of The West Wing, because how he’d not seen it up till that point continues to baffle me. Then… well, I forget what comes next, but then we moved in together, and I’ve introduced him to Game of Thrones of which we’ve happily bounced our way together through series two and three (the latter being especially satisfying for that episode which I, having read the books, knew was coming and he didn’t); we’ve watched the new version of House of Cards; and Homeland; and we’ve blitzed through Orange is the New Black in near-record time.
And then, of course because how couldn’t there be, there’s Breaking Bad. I’m not going to bore on about how it’s the greatest programme that’s been on tv, or that everyone should watch it, because that’s pretty much taken as read with fans of the show – you’re evangelistic or nothing.
TW and I have been hooked since we started watching it some time last year – him since the end of the first episode, me since the end of the third, which I watched through my fingers. We’ve ploughed through the rest pretty steadily since, pausing only for the enforced breaks when the new episodes had yet to appear on Netflix.
It’s been a bit of a ritual during the last half of the final series, which finished to acclaim last week: we’d get home on a Monday, make supper and then sit on the sofa to eat it in front of whatever terrible things Walt was doing that week. Events were largely turned down, unless we were going to them together and could scurry back early to get our fix.
Apart from, as it turns out, the finale, which was available in the UK from last Monday morning. TW had been invited to a press screening that he wasn’t going to attend, so we could watch the episode together. All hunky-dory. Until I received a text message partway through the day confessing that he’d watched it so he could write a review. Uncool.
It’s hard to argue with a legitimate, professional reason like that, but I didn’t have enough sympathy for it that I didn’t sit on the opposite end of the sofa on Monday night, refusing to look at TW for the entire episode for fear that any minute change in facial expression might give away what was about to happen.
It’s still a slightly sore point and one that’s not going to go away any time soon. At least, not until I can get my own back by sneaking in a solo episode of something without him. Sadly, I don’t think the new season opener to Grey’s Anatomy is going to have the same effect.