After twenty gripping episodes of The Killing: some of the best television in years I'm bereft. Saturday nights will seem just that bit emptier from now on, back to the lobotomised bilge usually on offer.
British program makers take note.
But where was the hype? It was never mentioned in the newspapers as a 'must see' and found by accident when - bored witless with the usual Saturday night dross - idly channel-hopping. And so glad I did. For the first time in years finally I found something to look forward to watching, glass of red poured in anticipation.
So, now we know: it was Vagn wot dunnit. That was obvious the minute he took his hat off to reveal a dodgy bouffant.
But for me the best of show was Lund. Ice Queen of Jumpers or rather jumper as only ever saw her wear the same one and doubtless starting a welcome new trend of not showering.
Ironically refreshing after all the slap and makeover surgery we're force-fed constantly. Though her detection skills were less than perfect: a politician ruined, a teacher beaten nearly to death, so many red herrings: but then it is Danish.
No agonizing over womens issue's for our Lund, how does she cope with a family, relationship's and a demanding career? Easy, she neglects the kids and dumps the bloke. She stares fixedly at a laptop looking for clues, eating yesterday's heated up dinner straight out of the saucepan and swigging beer from the bottle. Oh come on, we've all done it. My kinda gal.
And even more surprisingly no-one got their kit off, nor did we have to endure any gruesomely graphic post-mortem's but lots of - shock horror - smoking and drinking. The only time the plot went a bit off piste was Troels Hartmann the politician, tall, good-looking, successful, principled, well-dressed: on a dating site - cue for much clutching of sides with laughter. As if.
So hurrah for The Killing and come back soon. Missing you already....