so just lately, I've been reading a few too many murder mysteries. It started with old Agatha Christie and now that I've been introduced to the charming Mr. Lennox I shall never get away. I started 'A death in the Small Hours' by Charles Finch very quietly late last night. I'm on page eleven and it's wonderful.
An honest pom pom rug update: no progress... to busy trying to discover who killed the housemaid.
In the words of C.S Lewis, "You can never get a cup of tea large enough or a book long enough to suit me."
