Tag Archives: #AgathaChristie

There’s always a train

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.


.Why not take a look at my previous poem upon this theme.

And then there were none #AgathaChristie, #CaesarsWife

Ten people on an island…

one of them was Caesar’s Wife…

no one thought it was her.

The book came first

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.

Ode to a fountain pen

‘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,


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.

Start a book, finish a book?

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.

Mordor – on the Orient Express.

At the London ticket office.

‘No, you can’t get a ticket to Mordor – this train only goes to Venice.’

‘Venice? Can we change there for Mordor?’

‘You can certainly try.’

To Harrogate @AgathaChristie







recuperate –






And then there were one

We started off with ten,

lost one to a hungry hen –

that left nine.

Nine became eight,

when the weight of a five-bar gate

fell with what could be termed ‘a considerable hate.

One went to Heaven

(or Hell),

when thrown into a well –

leaving seven.

One was buried under some four million Lego bricks,

leading to a construct of six – nerves were beginning to tense by this time.

One drowned in a sink,

another caught fire in a freezer;

those left were beginning to think

of the danger when using a small lemon squeezer.

Four remained.

One of which was ordained,

by being strangled with a freshly-starched

lapdog collar –

you should have heard them holler.

Of the three left,

one poor soul was savagely eaten by ferrets,;

and then there was the electrified knife,

which removed one of his life –

whilst cutting a loaf –

(pre-sliced bread certainly does have its merits)

And then there were one.

Mrs McGinty’s Shed #AgathaChristie

Mrs McGinty’s shed,

who put it up?

“No, not I!”

Mrs McGinty’s shed,

who built it there?

“I don’t know – why?”

Mrs McGinty’s shed,

it just fell down!

“Nothing to do with me –

I was out of town.”

‘Why Didn’t They Sell Peanut Butter?’ by Agatha Christie

I found a man upon the cliffs,

the dying words,

I heard him utter,

were. ‘Why didn’t they sell Peanut Butter?