... sometimes when I'm really knackered (even more than usual) I find I have to escape and my favourite escape (funnily enough) is to a book. So I sit there and abandon everything while I read an old fave for the forty-millionth time... Sparkling Cyanide it was tonight.
Ruth Lessing. Great name eh?
And Agatha has hilarious little jokes... like...
"Now then, funny, don't be like the heroines of third-rate thrillers who start in the very first chapter by having something they can't possibly tell for no real reason except to gum up the hero and make the book spin itself out for another fifty thousand words."
I deeply, darkly appreciate that. I really do.
And I confess to skimming over the fave parts of 2 Mary Stewarts and 4 Georgette Heyers this week too...
... it's like that, that's the way it is.