I had a very strange feeling earlier today.
I watched the 52nd and final episode of “Downton Abbey,” a show I had never watched before a few weeks ago. It was a nice innocuous effort to tie up all the loose ends in the PBS series, and when it was over, I realized something.
I was extremely sad there wouldn’t be any more episodes.
Oh, I’m aware there are two “Downton” movies, and at some point I will watch them. I also read today that they might be filming a seventh season of the show, although that’s supposed to be a deep dark secret.
I really don’t watch much series television anymore. It has been a long time since I have watched a situation comedy at all, and the only two series that are (sort of) still on that I watch are “Yellowstone” and “Blue Bloods.”
I have battled on and off through seasons of “Doctor Who,” which really is a wonderful show, but the fact that the cast changes every couple of years bothers me a little.
As for “Yellowstone,” I have enjoyed the “1923” spinoff series and have had to wait what seems like an interminable time for the second season thanks to the writers’ strike.
In fact, the last show I can think of that I watched week after week and enjoyed was “Madam Secretary.” It lasted 5 1/2 seasons and at least they were full 22-episode seasons.
That said, I would watch Tea Leoni mowing her lawn and feel entertained.
But as much as I liked “Madam Secretary,” “Downton Abbey” is a better show.
And imagine, when I first heard of it, I wondered what “Downtown Abbey” meant.