I am truly, madly, deeply  in love with the TV programme Detectorists. It is a wonderful, soulful celebration of life and love in all its desperate yearning and brutal reality. Everything about it is lovely. The characters and plot are irresistible to me, but I was most seduced by the theme tune. Jonny Flynn’s eponymous song is effortlessly lovely and haunting, as all truly great folk songs are. It captured me within five notes.  Add treasure hunting in to the mix and I am a  helpless and hopeless addict. I cannot even watch Season Two yet, because I am consumed by savouring the first series. It is glorious.

This hauntingly beautiful programme calls out to the passionate enthusiast in my psyche that painstsakingly trawls through slanting piles of LP’s in charity shops. Seeking treasures. The search that could bear fruit in a rare recording or well-preserved auditory discovery. Though it is also so much more than that. It speaks to the part of me that yearns for fellow enthusiasts. Somebody to share in quirky obsessions and pastimes, free from mockery and derision. Seldom have I cared more about characters in a show, or willed them to succeed so vehemently. I do not exaggerate. I spent the duration of the whole first series of the show close to tears (of happiness), because it is so special. It feels like something I have always wanted to see, without realising it.

Back to the aforementioned brutal honesty. The characters, all of them, are wracked with the trials and tribulations of daily life, and often are hopelessly  inept at dealing with them. Each and every character displays an endearing vulnerability. As such, the show feels utterly real. I both sympathise and empathise with Lance, Andy and their associates. So perhaps that is at the core of my love of the programme. It is humbly, harshly and deeply human. It feels like home.


© Tom Tide 2016

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