We’re going to need a bigger handbag…

My brain is currently the consistency of a lukewarm bowl of Angel Delight (and not even butterscotch, the only good flavour, but some putrid crap like strawberry). As I’m currently doing the zero hours-contract thing, and everyone is on holiday, I am taking every shift going so when the dearth of September arrives I’ll have a financial cushion to keep the child in shoes and the cat in Tesco own-brand cat food. This means I’ve not had a day off in a long time, hence the brain thing. I’ve have been reading, but felt like a break from the weight of the Reformation book I’m still reading, and reserved Letters of Note from the library. It looked like a good handbag book, to be easily dipped in and out of during breaks.


However, as I couldn’t get the lid closed and I’m carrying enough bags around me, this has become a coffee table book, which I suspect was the publisher’s original intention. It’s like a hardback phone book, or one of those old Next catalogues.

There’s too many good letters to mention, but my favourite historical one is from ‘Unknown’ to Baron Monteagle, the warning letter that saw the gunpower plotters caught and executed. So much history and tradition from one scrap of parchment.

The opening letter seems apt right now, and reminds us of simpler times, as it is from the Queen to a US president. Liz reiterates what a happy day they spent together and apologises for her tardiness in forwarding the scone recipe she had promised him. *sigh*


However, she has shocking handwriting. A very young Castro writing to Roosevelt could teach her a thing or two.


It’s also worth noting Letters Of Note are worth following on Twitter, and made me laugh recently by offering good money for any Danny Dyer letters out there πŸ˜‰

So, lovely as this book is, I need something light for work (both for the Angel Delight brain as well as hernia prevention) so I’ve picked up one of my Tommy and Tuppences, of which I have a cheap set. Agatha Christie’s crime-fighting married couple not only rarely seem to be at work but they also have ‘help’, and my house is a midden, so I’m jealous on many fronts. Postern of Fate has started very well, Tuppence has a bought job lot of books from the previous owners of her new home, including copies of her childhood favourites like The Black Arrow by Robert Louis Stevenson. And what’s this? The mysteriously underlined letters in the vintage book spell out Mary Jordan did not die naturally. It was one of us. I think I know which one.Β Yes! Get in! THERE’S BEEN A MUR-DURH!

Now, there’s a murder-mystery crossover I’d pay good money to see/read.