Agatha Christiemas?
What shall we find with the new Poirot?
Shall it be ABC 5*
Parts 1,2 and 3?
Or will it be a Hickory Dickory Shock
to the system?
Shall I have to get the 3:10 from Paddington to Bear it?
Who knows whether John Suchet
can be bettered
or equaled…
it is, perhaps,
just a previous reincarnation
sequelled?
James Japp
was a detective chap
although he needed Hercules
to put him right;
and Captain Hastings
usually gets it all wrong
apart from the one thing he says
that sets Hercules’ little grey cells thinking
upon the correct path
to the logical solution.
Posted in Poetry
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #CaptainHastings, #HerculesPoitot, #JamesJapp
Yesterday,
The Mysterious Affair at Styles
was the first
many followed
few bettered.
Today’s AgathaChristiethon
starts with A Pocketful Of Rye;
while the weather is appalling
It helps the day slip by.
Author’s Note: I should have posted this today.
The mystery
Of Agatha Christie
And where she went
For those eleven days
Has never truly been explained.
It has been said
That she left her daughter in bed
And went to seek a truth.
But, the truth will out
Without a doubt…
But, there is nowt
That is known
Of where Agatha went.
When she returned
It couldn’t be learned
Of where she had been
Or what she had done.
It was Agatha Christie
With the Unknown Purpose
In the Morris Cowley
That did it;
But, what ‘it’ may have been…
Perhaps, we shall never know.
Well, we all like a good mystery.
The note that I found slipped between the pages of my book (Agatha’s ‘They Do It With Mirrors’) gave me the terse message:
‘We are no further from the truth. 87a.’
I disposed of this slip of paper in the time-honoured way – I ate it – then set to thinking upon this latest ‘lack of’ development.
We had been passing messages this way for all of two months. I, receiving a thin strand of rice-paper with short missives; my counterpart having the benefit of my replies and questions in a similar form, attached to various items or concealed at random points where we knew each other to be. These destinations had been set up by the number/letter arrangement on the end of the message – ’87a’ meant I was to be at Henri’s Wednesday at 14:45. We had a series of locations, days and times that we had conceived as our drop-off codes; anytime we had a feeling that the code had been *infiltrated* we would use one of our ‘curtail’ keywords. We rarely met. The system in its simple way worked – though at the moment there seemed that there was little of anything for anybody to infiltrate.
Tbc (possibly)
Posted in Agatha Christie, novel, prose, suspense, Work in progress
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #suspense, #Thriller, novel
Posted in Agatha Christie, Film, Haiku, Jane Marple, poem, Poetry, Sleeping Murder
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #film, #JaneMarple, #mpy, #SleepingMurder, Haiku, Poem, Poetry
Geraldine McEwan
” St. Mary Mead, two-three-five?”
And off Jane goes
Another murder
In another hall
Or library,
Vicarage,
Or the like.
Her mind sorts out
The scarlet fish
From the Scooby-Doos
And we know that
In the end
All will be revealed.
And the Butler…?
Probably not.
Posted in Agatha Christie, Crime Novels, Jane Marple
Tagged #AgathaChristie, #detectives, #JaneMarple, crime
 | The Febrile Imaginin… on In the land of Yenom… |
 | Shaun Jex on In the land of Yenom… |
| The Febrile Imaginin… on I was… |
| Shaun Jex on I was… |
 | dessertflower5 on Who Am I? |
