There is ice. A bear lopes across a vast white tundra, weaving footprints in the snow. Closeup of a snow leopard. Crisp crunch of boots in thick snow. Heavy breathing … Running … Screaming … Is it the latest Paul Greengrass thriller? No. The words “51 Days Earlier” appear. Volare starts playing. And now we’re in sunny Palermo, Sicily: the southern Italian city conquered more than any other in Europe. Where else could we be but at the starting line of Race Across the World?
You know when a BBC series has gone stratospheric because the opening gets suitably hysterical and starts to think it’s a Bourne spin-off. And so it comes to pass with the sixth series of the BBC flagship show, now such a powerful harbinger of spring on these small isles that it has replaced daffodils. The premise, for the stubborn percent who haven’t succumbed, is simple and brilliant; a formula that, like the cometh of spring, will never get old.
