My, my CSI

Settled down to watch "other people's TV" last night with my flatmate. It's the Quentin Tarantino episodes of CSI. My flatmate is addicted to it, but I'm a little baffled.

She sat there, eating ravioli and giggling as the cast picked through the shredded bits of bomb victim. "Oooh! I've found a thumb!" exclaimed a slightly giddy lady. This seemed to be A Good Thing.

I was just distracted by the fact that their chief lab technician appears to be Charlie from Busted, and the hero was a man with enormous arms who kept grinning innapropriately.

Then I realised - he's so stupid, he finds the size of his arms a constant source of amusement. Even when buried in a box, he kept grinning. He'd be struggling away, panicking, and then all of a sudden... "Why, shucks look at my guns!" he'd think, and away he'd go, chuckling like a Cornishman meeting a cousin.

"You'll love CSI Miama," my flatmate suggested. "It's a spin-off. They solve crimes, but with their shirts off."

What absolute nonsense, I thought. And rushed out to buy the DVD.