This for Carlie, who once confided that when life gets very difficult she occasionally finds comfort in a quick shot of cream from the fridge:
“When I stayed with [Nan Watts] at Abney we used to go down to the home farm and drink cream by the half-pint. We continued these drinking bouts all through our lives, and I still remember buying our cartons of cream in Sunningdale and coming up to the golf course and sitting outside the club house waiting for our respective husbands to finish their rounds of golf, each drinking our pinta cream.”
I mean, how can you not adore?
I picked up Agatha Christie’s autobiography in a junk shop in Colorado, and if you like either Christie or 1900-1950s Brit history, you probably should read this book. If you like Christie AND Brit history, there’s really no alternative but to order a used copy stat and settle in.
It’s been filling up in the gaps in my day nicely.
And definitely worth wading through the piles of creepy dolls and rusted farm equipment… despite Abbey’s pronouncement that the shop looked like the kind of place where you could wander in alone one day and the next they’d be selling your skin as vellum.
Suitably goulish, I suppose, for an author who probably killed as many characters as anyone in the business.
Then again, it’s hard to read the autobio and imagine her as anything but incredibly cheerful and warm-hearted, with a keen eye for humor.
I love the perfect happenstance of finding a book you know will be part of your library forever. Especially when it’s already shabby and broken in.