Welcome back to Downton Abbey, or as the first George Bush would call it, “A thousand points of plot.” This week the Abbey is hosting a weekend house party, which means that everyone downstairs is in a constant state of “tizzy” while everyone upstairs is desperately trying not to look so bored with one another. As much as Downton weaves a magical spell of time and place, and as interesting and glamorous as Julian Fellowes can make the early twentieth century seem, I know I would have been rot as a member of the Downton coterie, because I could not survive so damn long without television.
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