Penoza in trouble

Last year, and the year before that for that matter, I sat in front of the TV every week. For Penoza. It was really the only show I didn't want to watch again but had to see first. And along with me, a small million other people. I think Monic Hendrickx is the best actress in our country. And how amazing was Medina Schuurman. And may I have applause, champagne, and a ribbon for Olga Zuiderhoek as grandma Fiep? I also wish my single colleagues a wild night with Raymond Thiry, also known as Luther. Anyway. I was addicted. Here you can read how heavy.

Shivering, I sat on the couch. Nothing I expected happened, and everything I couldn't have imagined took place. The murder of John, Boris's addiction, the terrible sex club in Belgium... And Jacob Derwig must be a particularly nice man in real life, but because of Penoza, I will always be a little afraid of him.

You understand that the new season was again marked with a big cross in the calendar. Sunday evening at 20:25 is mine. I shove the kids to bed (not really, but I make sure they sleep) and I'm ready. Maybe it's just me, but Penoza and I, we don't have it together anymore. The English of Carmen and Luther, the casting of the cartel, the scenes where everything suddenly goes exactly as you expect. Boris is at home with Carmen's lover whose son Boris ’just happened’ to have shot, and yes, as soon as Carmen leaves the house, the lover wakes up and goes to Boris's room. The phone calls where you don't hear the other party unless there's a voicemail. Guys. They almost do that better at Goede Tijden. Did they have to cut costs so much? Was everything squeezed through for the sake of the last season? And could someone have told Gijs Naber that he would have been really, really much more attractive without his German mustache? I keep trying, you know. You don't just drop an old love, after all.