to admit that I have whiled away the entire day reading the adventures of Agatha Raisin in merry old new England. No, I am not really ashamed at all. It's not like I can go anywhere and it's too hot to sit outside on the screened porch. We are all the way up to book number seventeen - my OCD really kicks in on serial mysteries! Over the past dozen books or so, Agatha has become much more likeable, her ex-husband James is a complete ass, I still haven't figured out that motivates Sir Charles, Detective Bill Wong is still his same, sweet self and Mrs. Bloxby continues to be the voice of kindness, reason and sanity in the small village of Carseley. I like to think that Aggie and Peter are enjoying these cozies as much as I am, but they don't say much. They just curl up next to me or on my lap - they're great company!.
Sounds like Perfection.
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