Last Christmas, I downloaded the first season of Mad Men to watch on the plane as we made our way down to New Zealand. I liked it but since I'd read rave reviews, I expected to be blown away and wasn't. Sure, the clothing and sets were scrumptious and from what I've read, they have captured that time on Madison Avenue perfectly but at the end of thirteen odd episodes, I had a take it or leave it attitude.
Then, a couple of weeks ago, I decided to stream a few episodes from the second season to see how the cliffhangers had been resolved and oh dear God, I drank the purple Koolaid. I was hooked. In fourteen days, between 9pm and 7am, I devoured 50 episodes (4 seasons). I'm obsessed. It's great tv.
I've only got two shows left of the fourth season and then I'm out of luck. No fifth season.
Yet.
Apparently, after prolonged contract negotiations between the series creator and the network, they are back to work filming new episodes. Makes me tingle with anticipation.
I know. I'm not well.
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