Engrossed

12 Ramadhan, 1441

On the first day of an unexpected break from work I found myself indulging, for part of the day, in what is known as binge-watching something on the goggle box. I was startled to find I had it in me to do so since my concentration span for films and the like is generally limited, to say the least. I suppose the programme in question might be fairly described as the kind that is likely to hold my attention, it being a sort of 'murder', but not of the fictional variety. This was real life crime, or rather, there might have been a crime and there might not.

The series in question, entitled The Staircase, deals with the prosecution for murder of a guy in American who might well have beaten his wife to death on the staircase of their well-appointed house; but it might also have been the case that she fell to her very bloody death down the stairs. After some 13 or so episodes spanning some 15 years you don't feel any closer to a clear-cut answer as to guilt or innocence - or, at least, I didn't. I suppose that's what kept me watching. I don't think I wanted an answer, finding a kind of honesty in the realisation that life so rarely provides them. Answers, that is.