So was reading a book… perambulating through it really – when I was slowly overwhelmed by this feeling. Not all at once mind you – more like an encroaching tide of inevitability, coupled with a sense of ineluctable destiny. Like all roads would lead to this point, regardless of the path I took. No Robert Frost for me thank you. I was like: no, wait…there is something about this that is soo familiar… It was elusive (not unlike the scarlet pimpernel). It was liminal. It was Georgette Heyer. Again. It did make me wonder: do all roads lead to Georgette Heyer?
For those following – or caring – I was last writing in the midst of a terrible, horrible, no-good, purple-spotted book slump. It was like being in the fire swamp from the Princess Bride: flame spurts, lightning sand, rodents of unusual size and worst of all: deeply terrible stories.
Fortunately, I managed to stagger through, out into the light, and when I did, I was clasping Kathleen Gilles Seidel’s Again.
There has been a cold snap – sudden, ruthless and seemingly endless – which has made me completely hungry for rich, slow cooked meals, Yorkshire puddings and all things warming … Continue reading Cold Comfort Comfits: The Convenient Marriage, Part I
Dedicated to that feeling of disappointment when you realise what you have just read, has already been done, better; clever-er, funnier; and probably 50-100 years earlier.
Single-handedly destroying the raison d’être of BlueCastle: Royal Wedding, Colour, 1951, Fred Astaire, Jane Powell.