Move over, Darcy

For the past few nights the Galumph and I, once Grumbles is soundly asleep, have been snuggling under the still-unfinished quilt, me with my knitting in hand, watching the 1983 BBC production of Jane Eyre.

For the first few nights, it was more about the knitting for me, as the show was plod-plod-plodding along. But then, Jane grew up and became the governess at Thornfield Hall, and in waltzed Mr Rochester. All I can say is I'm sorry, Mr Darcy, but Rochie's the fella for me! That drawling brogue! Those devilish looks! That keen, playful intellect! Those sparkling eyes! Phwoar!

All I had previously known of Timothy Dalton was that he was 007 for a while (a series of movies that I truly doubt I shall ever show any interest in) so this thunderingly handsome appeal of his was quite a surprise. A Milo, once again, was needed to steady my nerves, as I sat, probably gaping, at the screen, willing him to be on again when he disappeared.

Side note: I doubt the Galumph was experiencing the same sort of feelings for Zelah Clarke, who played Jane, who, even though she was a very fine actress, didn't exude the same sort of appeal as MR, which is as should be considering she was playing plain Jane, after all. And a good job she did of it, too. I think I may have turned the whole thing off in disgust if they had of cast a glamorous Jane.

However, here is where trouble really strikes - we've finished the series, and have none more to watch. Now, we all know that the BBC makes a killer series. Jane Eyre? Fab (albeit slow). Wives and Daughters? Terrific. Pride and Prejudice? Need I even say anything? But these are the only ones that I know of. Does anybody have any suggestions for our viewing pleasure?