Dear British Television,

Why are you trying to kill me? Between the anxiety you induce by making me wait forever for a new series of a show and then the heart wrenching you compel when the show finally comes back, I’m convinced you want me dead. Maybe I’m being a little paranoid and this should only be addressed to the shows you send my television all the way across the pond and not all of British Television… and I guess I can exclude the comedies, although some of them have made me laugh so hard I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing for a second, but still. It’s like you know what you’re doing to me and every other fan out there, and I can just picture some of you (ehm ehm Moffat) sitting in a dark room somewhere wringing your hands while you laugh evilly about what you’ll do to us next.

Waiting for…