Slow Horses: How I Fell Into the Filthy Genius of British Spy TV

I started Down Cemetery Road on a quiet evening, thinking it’d be one of those slow-burn mysteries you half-watch while scrolling through your phone. You know the type — gloomy streets, everyone looks like they’ve been living off instant noodles and regret. But within an episode, I realised this wasn’t your average crime series. It had bite. It had wit. It was like someone had sprinkled sarcasm over Oxfordshire and then filmed the results.

The writing was sharp enough to draw blood, and the characters weren’t your usual cardboard cut-outs of detectives and victims. They were gloriously flawed, all trying to make sense of the chaos around them. It had that perfect mix of dark humour and proper storytelling — the kind that makes you mutter, “Oh, go on then, just one more episode.” but so far only two episode have been released, dammit

Naturally, this led me down the rabbit hole to Slow Horses. And my God, what a discovery. It’s not just good. It’s so bloody brilliant that I’m now considering reporting myself to MI5, just so I can get demoted and sent to Slough House too.

Because that’s where the magic happens — Slough House, the grimy purgatory where failed spies go to rot. Except they don’t. They stumble, swear, drink, and somehow save the nation between insults. Gary Oldman’s Jackson Lamb is the sort of man you can smell through the television. He looks like he’s been marinated in cigarette smoke, curry, and disdain. And yet, beneath that avalanche of sarcasm, there’s something oddly noble about him. He’s not just a wreck — he’s our wreck.

Slow Horses is the anti–James Bond. There’s no glamour, no Aston Martins, no neat martinis — just the grim reality of bureaucracy and the occasional moment of brilliance buried under mountains of failure. It’s witty, cynical, and painfully British in the best way possible. Every scene feels like a reminder that heroism often comes from the people least expected to deliver it — the cock-ups, the rejects, the slow horses.

And let’s not forget the writing. Every insult from Lamb is an art form. Every character is a trainwreck you can’t look away from. It’s a masterclass in storytelling — brutal honesty wrapped in dark comedy.

So yes, Down Cemetery Road got me through the door. But Slow Horses locked it behind me, threw away the key, and poured me a drink. I can’t stop watching. It’s gritty, hilarious, and depressingly relatable — like being British itself.

If you haven’t watched it yet, do it. Clear your schedule, grab something greasy, and prepare to meet the worst spies in Britain — who might just be the best thing on television.