I love the Mitchell Library . . .

. . . and there's not much more to say. It may very well be my favourite place ever (at the moment) despite the ninety minute journey each way on bus, train and foot. Lots of obscure History books, plenty of desks to work on, friendly staff, atmospheric (and carpeted!) building (which reminds me of the Dolphin Hotel from Murakami's Dance, Dance, Dance), healthy learned-magazine section, numerous graphic novels, an internet cafe and plenty of opportunity for people watching. Most importantly, I seem to be able to actually read some History when I'm there, rather than daydreaming/ checking emails/ reading a novel/ watching TV/ making yet another cup of tea. Which is a good sign, considering I'm back at uni in less than a fortnight :-s

A little Graham Greene wordcloud . . .

A combination of two of my favourite things :)

Regarding Poirot . . .

I have a confession: I am an Agatha Christie addict. Of her 80 detective novels, I have read all but three. I own all but five. They sit in a bookcase all of their own, alphabetised in their decade-spanning, myterious little second-hand covers. Knitting makes me think of Miss Marple, old motorcars of Hastings, strange little ladies too fond of their cats of Miss Lemon. Quaint English villages with well kept gardens and long forgotten churches bring to mind euthanasia, bankruptcy and blackmail. If I was angry with you it wouldn't be a quick fist to the nose but an 'accident' involving a giant painting, or a dash of cyanide in a glass of pink lemonade intended for somebody else. Be afraid :)

I'm not sure what it is about Christie. She certainly does not fit into the 'reality-bending, international modern literature' genre that my other favourites - Murakami and Mitchell - do so snugly. Despite the frequently exotic locations of her books and characters, she is as English as scones and tea. And not only is she English, she belongs to a frequently unspecified 'old-fashioned' era. Yes, butlers and stockings, steam trains, dressing up before dinner, revolvers in handbags, ginger beer, going to Switzerland for one's health, art deco houses, the seaside and (sometimes more than) casual xenophobia all give a sense of the 'golden' period, and the changes the detectives see happening in the (youth) culture around them allows for the passage of time, but there is still the feeling that Agatha's England is a creation of her very own, and has its own very particular brand of crime.

People are almost always murdered for money - to stop blackmail, protect their reputation, allow them to marry somebody rich, to take on someone else's identity or for inheritance. Occasionally, very occasionally, it might be to avenge the death of a parent or child, but the potential murderer usually sees the error of their ways (thanks to the detective and the thought of the gallows) before going through with it. People are not killed in domestic, non-money related arguments. They are never sexually assaulted. It is only in the later, and arguably less entertaining books, that drugs rear their ugly head. I can think of only three or four occasions where a child is killed, and all but one of them are brats :) The young lovers will end up together at the end, however many policeman stand in the way. The murderer is always found and punished in some way. It is safe.

And so within this 'safe' little England can evolve the fiendishly unpredicatble, body-riddled mysteries. Other people have told me that they can spot the guilty party from three chapters in but I must admit, hand on heart, that I have never been able to work out the who, the how and the why for a single one of her novels and, unlike many modern mystery writers, the clues are always there. They just have to be sifted from the vast heaps of red herrings. Agatha Christie is an absolute delight.

As is my darling Poirot. However miserable I may be feeling, sit me down with a glass of red wine, a box of chocolates and a novel starring our moustached, well-dressed Belgian gentleman and his 'little grey cells' and I'm in heaven. This a love affair that's been eight years and counting - I hope it lasts a lifetime.

And with my adoration of most things Christie comes a certain buzz whenever the ITV schedule reaches a certain time of year . . . yes, they have drifted away from the source material occasionally in recent years, but judging from last week's episode we're back on track. And David Suchet is still an absolute marvel, he is Poirot. As long as the books remain in print he will be remembered for the suit, the walk and the 'moustaches'. :)

I miss Zambia . . .

Just back from 24 hours in Aberdeen catching up and getting all nostalgic with a couple of fellow Zambia gappies, and if you placed the plane ticket in my hands I'd fly over there this very evening . . . .

9/11: Out of the Blue

An astonishing, devastating poem from one of my favourite British writers, Simon Armitage, can be read here.

Hope that, wherever you are, today has been a peaceful day.

I started a blog because . . .

I love the sound of my fingers a-typing. Everyone else is, and you know what I'm like for arriving a decade late for a trend. I kept on losing my diary. It wastes less trees. I was bored. It was another reason to avoid my essay. My brother had one and it looked interesting. I like the idea of having my voice 'out there' even if nobody ever reads this. I spend quite a lot of time away from home, and I'm guessing this is a good way to keep in touch. It will improve my writing. It'll be a permanent record of what I did and watched and listened to and when. I find the idea of a whole network of feelings and thoughts and stories really exciting. Maybe somebody will read my reviews and like them. It feels good to be part of something so global. I'm a bit of a technophobe, but I'm always up for learning something new. It'll be using my Twitter account for something at least vaguely constructive. It seems a bit more educational than wasting hours on youtube. I realised how much of the summer I'd spent without writing a thing. I really do love movies, and this is another place where I can ramble on about them without driving my poor family slightly mad. I'll have forgotten it by next week anyway. I, like everyone else, have a secret hope for some internet fame. I didn't like having nothing to put in the 'your website' section of profile pages. I have no life. It seemed like a missed opportunity for someone who likes the sound of her own words so much. It's a harmless pastime. It's another thing to keep me up until the early hours. I am much better at expressing myself in writing than in person. I am too self-concious to vlog and my glasses would probably be too reflective anyway. I've read some other people's blogs and they made me smile :) It's one of those things that everyone should try, if only once. If you can't beat them, join them. If I die, I'd prefer the people on the news to hover over a screenshot of the blog whilst talking in a low, respectful tone than root through my facebook pics. I have a poor, sleep deprived memory.

Sorry you asked? ;) xx