Here are the great TV shows of this Golden Age:

[Sir C]

Wolf Hall.
Les Mis.
That's it.

Talking of Wolf Hall, when is that fat lazy cow going to finish the third book? Fúck's sake.

[Burney]

Talking of Wolf Hall, when is that fat lazy cow going to finish the third book? Fúck's sake.

Hillary Mantel is a bit funny-looking. What's wrong with her?

[Sir C]

Hillary Mantel is a bit funny-looking. What's wrong with her?

She's a fat, ugly socialist

But she writes goodly.

[Burney]

She's a fat, ugly socialist

But she writes goodly.

Yes. Although I can't say I liked Bring Up The Bodies as much as Wolf Hall.

Did you ever read 'A Place Of Greater Safety'? In many ways, I think it's her best.

[Sir C]

Yes. Although I can't say I liked Bring Up The Bodies as much as Wolf Hall.

Did you ever read 'A Place Of Greater Safety'? In many ways, I think it's her best.

I didn't, no. As a rule I don't read things by birds. I've just made an exception for the Cromwell ones.

[Burney]

I didn't, no. As a rule I don't read things by birds. I've just made an exception for the Cromwell ones.

You really should broaden your exception to include it imo.

[Sir C]

You really should broaden your exception to include it imo.

Perhaps I'll give it a listen. I'm just reaching the end of Tess of the d'urbervilles, which I thought would make for good, brooding moorland vibes whilst oop norf. It was actually just deeply dull and depressing.

[Burney]

Perhaps I'll give it a listen. I'm just reaching the end of Tess of the d'urbervilles, which I thought would make for good, brooding moorland vibes whilst oop norf. It was actually just deeply dull and depressing.

Yes. I've always felt that Thomas Hardy should really just fúck off.

I liked the Mayor of Casterbridge and that was it.

[Ash]

The only good thing Thomas Hardy ever did was to pile the gravestones round a tree in St Pancras cemetery when they built the railway through it. They're still there.

[Herbert Augustus Chapman]

I found the dialogue irritating. A bunch of smart-arses speaking clever-sounding sentences at a hundred miles an hour that it probably took the writers ages to construct and polish.

Cùnts.

And cameras gliding through scenes like a fecking drone and people wafting into and out of view while delivering said smart arse lines and never bumping into each other - utter tosh (I am a little disappointed with Sir C a. I thought him a man of discernment and taste. I fear when they amputated his hooter they took some of his brain with it).