That was a longer break than intended – but don’t worry, Covid didn’t hit me all that hard. The fatigue was the worst part, but the whole thing was over within a week. Thank goodness for vaccines! Then I went off on holiday for a week to a converted railway station. It was with the same group that went away in early March 2020, in fact, so it felt like a sign of normality creeping back into our lives.
On the way there, we stopped off at Astley Book Farm. It’s one of those bookshops that is more enjoyable for the experience than the stock, necessarily, though the stock is vast and affordable so you’re bound to find something to read. It’s a converted farm that is now a lengthy warren of book-filled rooms, and their café is the best I’ve found in a bookshop. Soup, toasties, simply enormous pieces of cake.
There were lots of books I’d probably have taken home if I weren’t Project 24-ing (only buying 24 books this year), but two really stood out…
House Happy by Muriel Resnik
The turnover isn’t massive at Astley Book Farm, and I often find myself mulling over books that I reluctantly left behind on my previous trip. I’ve picked up House Happy every time I’ve been to Astley, over the past five or so years. It was a little more than I’d usually spend on a book (though rather less than it is selling for online), and Project 24 meant I could afford to splurge a little.
I was drawn in by the lovely, lively cover – but also by the description on the jacket flap. ‘It all start with an enormous bed. Lucy Butler bought it in a secondhand store on impulse, a force which activated most of her decisions.’ Turns out it is too big for her apartment, and so she has to house hunt (my favourite thing in a novel) – and finds a dream house she can’t afford.
Murder on the Second Floor by Frank Vosper
I hadn’t heard of Vosper, who is more famous as an actor (Wikipedia tells me), but the opening paragraph cried out to me:
Meet Sylvia Armitage. She is the heroine of this story. Sylvia is not reclining gracefully in a hammock, attired in a simple gown of flowered muslin, beneath a cherry-laden tree in a quaint, old-world garden. Neither is she sitting on a table, swinging her long, slim, graceful legs, with a cocktail in one hand and a cigarette in a long holder in the other, saying shocking things about biological urges to a horrified aunt. She is not even in a notorious night-club in New York, standing on a table, attired in less than half a bathing-dress, with a gentleman’s silk hat at a rakish angle on her wicked little head, drinking her own health – in such liberal potations as must seriously impair it – surrounded by fifty intoxicated lovers in paper hats, carrying a dozen balloons apiece. No; at the risk of opening our story in a drab and disappointing manner, the truth must be told. Sylvia Armitage is washing-up. Yes, washing-up, in the scullery in the basement of a most ordinary boarding-house in a most ordinary street in Bloomsbury.
I couldn’t leave it there, with that paragraph, could I? I’m delighted with all three of my Project 24 purchases so far, though have yet to read any of them. But I think I’ll remedy that before long – but which to start with?
Anyway, whether you’re at home or out and about, here is the usual Miscellany to help kick off your weekend….
I had a little blogging absence because I had a nasty cold – which I presumed might be Covid, given how everyone seems to have it at the moment, but a zillion tests turned out negative. Just a normal cold! Back to normal winter life!