Downton delight

Just got this welcome email from Canada Revenue:

You have get a Tax Refund on your Visa or MasterCard.
Complete the formular, and get your Tax Refund.

Wow. I have get Tax Refund. Just have to figure out what a formular is.

Last night, season finale of Downton. Oh for God's sake - as if Bates would keep that incriminating train ticket in his pocket for a YEAR. Gosh, he kept thinking to himself, if this were found, I'd be convicted of murder - I really should take out this heavy ticket and throw it away. But I'd better polish his Lordship's shoes first.

Really, Branson? You're going to let that skanky socialist bully you up to the SECOND FLOOR?
Really, Lord Downtown, you have NOT YET FIGURED OUT that Mr. Barrow is a conniving liar?
And most of all, really, Julian Fellowes, on top of keeping all those plot balls more or less in the air, we have to save the monarchy by forging a letter and breaking in? Really?

And yet he redeems himself with wonderful scenes - between Isobel and the Dowager, the pokes between Americans and Brits, Daisy glowing and beautiful, and the final shot of saintly Mrs. Hughes and flawed but adorable Carson, hand in hand, wading into the waves. So much fun, such glorious costumes and sets and actors, who needs believable plot? Fun. But the Depression is coming. Wonder if they'll notice?

Thank God, Olympic fever is over, and Oscar fever begins. And then we can begin to think about spring. And I will get out of here. I'll tell you my travel plans anon.