Last ten days I have been thundering up and down the A12/M11/North Circular looking after grandchildren and attending carol concerts and Christmas at Kew. All wonderful but boy by the start of this week I ached all over and could barely move so I decided to have a Duvet Day, well afternoon anyway. It was dank and grey and horrid, so I put a hot water bottle in my bed, got into my nightie and dressing gown (it was 3pm) made a cup of tea and repaired to my bed with ipad, books and just chilled out. Oh it was lovely. I was cosy and warm and I also had the telephone by my bed so when a friend rang I reached for it with a languid hand and had a good old natter all the while feeling wonderful.
Next day I was fine. And since then I have done three loads of washing (it is ironing night tonight), wrapped up all my Christmas presents, also wrapping up those coming to me from daughter in Oz to take to Kew on Christmas Day ("oh do you mind doing this for me Mum? Ta"), been to the dentist, marzipanned the cake (to be iced later in the week) and got all the ingredients for two pates I am making (again later in the week). I have also labelled and marked up a box load of china and bits and pieces that are going into a cabinet at an antiques centre (turning 70 concentrates the mind wonderfully when you then look at the bulging cupboards) and my To Do List is diminishing satisfactorily.
And in between I have tried to do the odd bit of reading, not a lot mind you but some. Though having said that I admit to having read a huge pile of Val Macdermid books over the last week or two. There is a series featuring DCI Carol Jordan and psychological profiler Tony Kind and I have motored through them all. I read the latest one last week and now find myself, as usual, adrift until the next one is written. So I have now turned to the other series she has written, hooray for her prolificness (is that a word - no matter) and am exercising restraint and loading up my Kindle for my travels in the New Year. More anon of this.
They are all, without exception, beautifully written with a taught narrative and very exciting indeed. Some of the gory details I could do without but are not as revolting as those by Patricia Cornwall, whose obsession with minutiae of oil on hair and grease under fingernails
and in arm pits made me nauseous after a while and I had to give up on them.
I do love it when I discover an author whose books I like and then find that there are about thirty to catch up on. I sometimes wish I was not such a quick reader though and did not get through them so fast.
About a year ago I read Deep Water by Christine Poulson, reviewed here, and which I enjoyed much. Now I have read Cold, Cold Heart which follows on from that title. It can be read on its own merits, but I think it would be better if the reader had knowledge of the previous title as there are characters common to both.
Following on from the above title, we follow scientist Kate Flanagan whose career has foundered. She is offered a post on a remote Antarctic research base and decides it is perfect, allowing her to get away, work, and hope that memories of her reputation as a trouble maker will fade. Another character who we met in Deep Water, Daniel Marchmont, a lawyer is undertaking due diligence on a breakthrough cancer cure. The scientist responsible for this has vanished, all knowledgeable crime readers will know that a body will turn up in due course, and this links to the Antarctic station. It is not long before nasty little tricks are being played on all the crew who are there, and then one of them goes out into the night and vanished....
This is an Agatha Christie situation in sub zero temperatures. Instead of a weekend party with house guests surrounded by snow and cut off from the world, we have this ice station and it is clear that the murderer is a colleague or friend. But who?
A good tight thriller with an eerie feel to it and the feeling of total isolation and the dark and the cold gave me a shiver or two...
I read the latest David Baldacci which is pulp fiction and nothing else. I blitz read most of these earlier in the year and some are good, some are pretty naff. This was one of the naff ones.
And a complete contrast, My Husband and I by Ingrid Seward a story of the marriage between Her Maj and The Duke of Edinburgh. Ingrid Seward is the editor of Royalty magazine and knows her stuff and it is a thoroughly good read. It is not a hagiography and she does not gush and that makes such a difference as earlier royal biogs have sometimes been obsequious to say the least. I liked it and I am enormously fond of Her Maj and the Duke who I think are amazing for their age. And as I have just finished watching Series Two of The Crown this made very good background reading.
I have also in the last week binged on Designated Survivor Series 2 so I am amazed that I have managed to read anything at all. OK, it is not exactly Booker stuff, but hey who cares? they are books.
Back again soon with news of My Big Trip in the New Year and arrangements I am making to ensure that I am never without reading matter.
