Saw Pam Ferris twice today:
‘4:50 from Paddington’
not ‘The Darling Buds of May’,
but ‘Rosemary and Thyme’,
so I thought I’d mark the occasion
with her name in. rhyme.
Old Ma Larkin,
Laura Thyme,
Elspeth McGillicuddy,
humour and crime.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #DarlingBuddofMay, #PamFerris, #poetry. #poem, #RosemaryandThyme
On the telly,
there is,
another Agatha Christiethon:
a programme about Agatha, by Lucy,
Evil Under the Sun,
and Death on the Nile.
What more could one want?
There were 10 Werewolves,
9 Werefoxes,
8 Werecats
7 Werebats
6 Werepaperboys,
5 Werebakers,
4 Werewasheruppers,
3 Werebishops,
2 Werereverends,
1 Wereabbess,
And then the werenun
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #AndThenThereWere, #poetry. #poem, #Werewolves, prose
There were
seven gold finches
eating all the food,
a blackbird landed amongst them,
and then there were none.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #AndThenThereWereNone, #blackbird, #Goldfinches, #poetry. #poem
I’ve said it before,
and I’ll say it again,
that in every episode
there is always a train.
And a steam train, too,
of the time,
and, usually, irrelevant
to the crime.
.
Ten people on an island…
one of them was Caesar’s Wife…
no one thought it was her.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #AndThenThereWereNone, #CaesarsWife, #FF, #vss
Reading the book,
whilst watching a small screen adaption,
leads me to love the book all the more.
True to the original?
There is a lot of artistic licence
in a screenplay.
The dumbing down of the plot,
recognisable actors and actresses
littering the quaint English villages,
all squeezed into a two hours’ view.
The book is where it all stems from,
and seems to me to be
where it all makes sense.
‘Oh, pen!’
says me.
‘I shall always remember that day,
the seventeenth Thursday in May,
nineteen seventeen oh five,
when I found you
drowning in the fountain
in Rome,
in Italy,
where Rome is usually,
but not always, found.
You were plucked from an inky depth,
and retrieved from the promise of death
by my writing hand.
Upon dry land,
you came back to your senses,
gasped of the air,
and nibbled past tenses
like a pro.
Oh, pen,
now, when your fluids are almost dry,
why
do I find the thought
and action difficult,
of keeping you
when your purpose has flown by?
It is hard
to keep a pen
that one should discard.
But, my memoirs
shall not be writ
by you,
nor am I a hypocrite;
having said, my friend,
that I wouldst keep you
until the end.’
.
NB title was taken from ‘A Murder is Announced’ by Agatha Christie.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #FountainPen, #nonsense, #ode, #poetry. #poem, #silly
How many times have you started a book,
only to put it down way before the end,
with no intention to ever pick it back up again?
It doesn’t happen to me often;
but ‘twice’ in one week?!
One was a 99p special that promised to be okay, one was an old ‘horror’ book from an author from the 70’s and beyond.
My tastes may have changed on the second one, my strong dislike of unnecessary crude language put me off of the first.
So, I returned to the sanctity of an Agatha. Miss Marple to the rescue once more.
And, normal service has been resumed.
It’s not that I don’t try (and like) new books – ‘The Lip’ by Charlie Carroll was interesting – but I do tend to follow the authors that have established themselves upon my reading lists.
Right! I’m off to see what is happening with the murder investigation at Chipping Cleghorn.
Graeme Sandford 