Tag Archives: Miss Marple

Another Day, Another . . .

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Goldfinch at Screveton

Another day and another small advance. Things are looking up slowly – I am better today than I was yesterday (even though I am far from fixed) and I have had another poem accepted. It’s for a members’ anthology and the system is that if you submit five you automatically get one in. Submit three and you have to be selected by the editor. I always go for three as five seems a cheat and I will know any entry has been tested.

Moorhen on bird table

Obviously, as I become older and follow the family path to dementia, I will be glad of the other option to ensure seeing my name in print.

Julia left me ham sandwiches for lunch yesterday. I am being well looked after. However, I hadn’t been very hungry so I’d left the, For breakfast, after the fruit and cereal, she added cheese to the sandwich and we had cheese and ham toasted sandwiches as a sort of brunch. The catering really is very good at the moment, though I expect it to revert to self-catering next week as I continue to make small recoveries day by day.

Nuthatch at Rufford Abbey

I’m managing to keep up with the blog but anything creative seems to elude me – a combination of sleep deprivation and daytime TV is blunting my wits.

I’m thinking of two historical mystery novel series – Mistress Marple, an elderly spinster from the village of St Mary Mead and Poirot, a refugee from the Eighty Years War in the Spanish Netherlands, owner of a twirly moustache and a formidable set of “les cellules grises”.

Goldfinches – Dearne Valley

They will need a little work, including some name changes to avoid being sued into oblivion by the Estate of Agatha Christie (now Agatha christie Ltd). That’s the trouble with daytime TV – you fall asleep, wake up with a brilliant idea and find someone has already written it.

More birds. Tomorrow I will try ducks.

Leaving the World to Darkness…

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I’m watching Joan Hickson playing Miss Marple in the 4.50 from Paddington. I prefer the Joan Hickson ones to the newer ones with Geraldine McEwen, partly due to the supporting cast. Amanda Holden, for instance, is not very convincing as the housekeeper in the newer version.

As I read that paragraph I realise that I may have spent too much time watching TV. I have certainly spent too much time watching Agatha Christie repeats.

It’s Julia’s fault. She puts them on then drifts out of the room, leaving me with the social dilemma of enduring endless repeats or turning them over and enduring reproachful glances.

That’s the trouble with winter Sunday nights, not much to do. It’s only just over a year (if we last that long) before Julia will stop working on Sundays and we might be able to do something more interesting than slumping in front of the TV.

After serving the stew, I have nothing else to do but watch dull TV and think about get rich quick schemes. I’ve tried the lottery but it hasn’t worked, and I don’t have the energy to look for a second job, so it’s either write a blockbuster or turn to a life of crime.

I think we all know that I’m not in good enough shape to be a cat burglar or bank robber and don’t have the technical skills for cybercrime. As I can’t write anything longer than three lines the blockbuster is unlikely too.

The only bright spot in my future is that a nice widow has written to me. It seems that she wants to give me $10 million from the estate of her late husband, and if I send her my bank details I could have the money by Tuesday.

As one door closes another door opens…