On my desk at work is a beautiful tower (ok, vase full) of pink Canterbury Bells, given me by a student, in commemoration of Chaucer, and even more specifically, of Criseyde, whose name and reputation will be rung like a bell down the centuries.And on my bedside table, the novel I was reading on the plane home, recommended by the same student for the purpose, Dorothy Sayers' Nine Tailors, which is structured by bell-ringing in a little East Anglian church. I'm not a huge reader of detective fiction, but I had read this before (and completely forgotten the plot). It was nice to buy it in a bookshop on Venice beach, though!
Ringing the bells for serendipity this morning.
OK, now back to the marking.
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'Cats, bells and mirrors,' said Lord Peter. 'They're queer, and it doesn't do to think too much about them.'
We usually have a gazillion bellbirds out here in the semi-rural hills but I was commenting to the mister just yesterday that they've disappeared lately. Now I know where they've gone!
The butler did it :-)
And, courtesy of Bunter's mother: facts are like cows. If you look them hard enough in the face, they'll usually run away.
I find I usually forget the plots of detective novels. With Sayers' books, I remember the romance plot but have no idea who did what and how, so those bits are re-discovered every time. Funny what information our brains choose to retain.
I am not a crime reader at all, but if you and PC are Sayers readers, it is probably time I took a gander.
Bells always ringing here too - though less than usual, I think parrots are starting to crowd the bellbirds out.
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