Last night was spent watching Lost, the ninety millionth episode of its seventy fifth season. Or thereabouts. Last year I was doing the same. This year I’m all, “What? What did he just say? What does it mean?” Last year I was saying the same thing. In fact trying to work out what the hell all these freaky dudes are doing on this random Island has been keeping me awake at night since I was 24 years old. The only difference this year is that I’m not sure how fit Sawyer is anymore. He used to be number one in my Top 5… Now I’m not sure if it’s me that’s changed, or if he just isn’t the hunk he was in the olden days.
Anyways, the end is in sight (23rd May, to be precise) and just in case you haven’t managed to keep up with the ridunc-a-dunculous plot, I thought I’d be nice and summarise it for you:
Season 1: A plane full of well fit birds and blokes crashes on a tropical Island and it’s all crazy and exciting. Something about giant polar bears and OMG Sawyer is the most delicious thing you’ve ever laid eyes on.
Season 2: Crash survivors, make-up still intact, fight with dirty, sweaty land-clan, aka The Others. Something about a hatch and Sawyer becomes a permanent Top 5 fixture worldwide.
Season 3: Is this about heaven/hell/purgatory or the science of time travel? Do we care? Or is it more important that Sawyer gets all hot and sweaty and takes his shirt off?
Season 4: An escape off the Island and Sawyer’s shirt is back on. Bah.
Season 5: A whole lot of time travel, mascara still intact, and are we nearly there yet?
Season 6: Too many crashes, Others, time travel escapades and romances with Kate than my poor brain knows what to do with. However, the end is in sight. I’d like to say I’m excited, but quite frankly this programme is more exhausting than bringing home a new baby.
No comments:
Post a Comment