On Quincy M.E.

This is a profserious guide to relaxation. My father, a scientist and engineer, was an extraordinary man. I knew that even when he was alive. His idea of relaxation was reading Persian grammar or browsing Gesenius, an Old Testament lexicon. His small talk would range from analogue computing through the philosophy of language to his "favourite prophet" (Isaiah). He did not expect others to necessarily share these pleasures but he imagined, fondly, that everybody could understand their attractions (he did think, naturally, that they would, at least, have their own 'favourite prophet'). Fortunately, he did not test this assumption too widely.

These rather particular interests were however, complemented  by a much more demotic affection for American detective TV shows. Kojak, Columbo, Hawaii Five-0, were high on the list but a personal favourite was Quincy M.E. For those who never saw it, Quincy, played by the late Jack Klugman, portrays the cases of a pathologist who investigates and solves exotic murders in unlikely West Coast locations: "Gentlemen, you are about to enter the most important and fascinating sphere of police work: the world of forensic medicine, where untold victims of many homicides will reach back from the grave and point back a finger accusingly at their assailant."

My father would sit, cup of coffee in hand and glasses slipping slightly down his nose, and watch this tosh with an air of seriousness that was never accorded, even to the most complex scientific problem. Sometimes the cat would sit next to him and he would stroke it, abstractedly and rather awkwardly. Funnily enough, he regarded his viewing of these programmes as much more unusual and inexplicable pastime than his other pursuits.

I have inherited this love. Now, aided by the TV hard disc recorder, I watch the latest TV detectives. I am not attracted by grit or psychological depth. Give me 'Midsomer Murders', in which dastardly and elaborate crimes are committed by retired vicars, in beautiful fictional English villages (which now enjoy a murder rate many times that of a Mexican border town), usually on the day of the annual medieval fayre. As I watch this, coffee in my hand, cat occasionally by my side, the day slips away and I relax. I mentally set aside the irritating emails I have received and the irritated emails I am composing. Ideas come unbidden. I recommend it unreservedly.