Jane Krakowski

I ask Jack, “Do you remember Ally McBeal?” and he says, “Sure, when we were at school, we’d stay up later than we were meant to, and at the time it seemed good, but I couldn’t tell you what happened now, who they are, how she ended up with Jon Bon Jovi.”

“She didn’t,” I say. “Ally moved to New York, started again, forgot all the men and the office, the ones alive and dead, and each series before, every one leading up, seemed a pointless expense when she didn’t find the one. All that whining got her nowhere.”

“She’s got Indiana now,” Jack says, “So she did okay. And that was the nineties anyway, and 2001 and 2 are responsible for shit like you’ve never seen – A.I. anyone?”

But no-one’s excused, mistakes aren’t erased by an easy confession in a darkened box, and they aren’t by water. Someone will always remember, buy the box set, start a blog for other people’s benefits to stop them watching something that just takes time and is ultimately pointless. Although point is really subjective.

“I liked Elaine,” I say, “I related. She never got noticed the way that she wanted, and everyone dated Calista. At least now, she’s changed, she doing better. I mean, I like them both, but my pity is an in built switch I can’t help feeling. I’ve dated people because of it.”

“Thanks,” Jack says and I say nothing.

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