I simply cannot NOT recommend Miss Hargreaves. Especially if you are prone to making up cockamamie stories about people who don't exist. I myself have a weakness for dreaming up characters so elaborate I often cannot remember if I'm remembering a book, a movie, an old friend, or the inside of my own mind. Norman Huntley has the exact same problem. And her name is Miss Hargreaves!
Written in 1940, by Frank Baker (author of The Birds!) the language of Miss Hargreaves is delightful. The walls of Moss Cottage were shaking with laughter as I read parts of the dialogue aloud. to. myself. It's that funny.
I cannot remember now when or where that was. My memory-alas!-works spasmodically in this the evening of my days. But what an evening! Oh, yes! It is no use disguising the fact; I am no longer young. She leant forward across the table, tapped me on the chest with a silver pencil suspended from a chain round her neck. 'Eighty-three, Norman; eighty-three! Five reigns. And yet I feel as though I had been born last week! Youth – she declaimed, touching her heart – lives here.
"I am not accustomed to being spoken to in this manner," she said sharply. She went towards the door. "Kindly move, sir! Kindly move! Make way! I wish to descend!"
After my vintage reading tangent, I've landed back in the 21st century with a companion book to the beloved Unlikely Pilgrimage of Harold Fry. Yes, you "heard" me right! How glad I was not to have to hunt very long for my next book. Sometimes the search is a real pain in the tuchus. Ya know?
I'm only 30 pages in and I'm already charmed.
Blah blah blah…. I'll have to insist you spill the beans on what you're reading. At once!