This is the second book in the Corduroy Mansions series. Of course it’s the same idea as his 44 Scotland series except most of the action takes place in London instead of Edinburgh.

This one was more enjoyable than the first one I think, or maybe it’s just that I know the various characters better now, it’s another cozy read. A few more of the Pimlico inhabitants are paired up. The whole thing is quite daft really with Freddie de la Haye, the Pimlico terrier belonging to William French being recruited by MI6 as a spy. But then when you think about it, stranger things have happened in that weird world of espionage.

William French, the main character is a man of a certain age. Jack usually asks me exactly what that means and I reply – older than me – but in this case William is actually a bit younger than me. He muses on such things as Latin phrases which are unknown to younger people nowadays and the fact that the younger generation has no idea of the use of the subjunctive. It felt like he had dropped in to my world! I imagine that there’s quite a lot of McCall Smith in William French. For me, this series isn’t as entertaining as the Scotland Street books but that’s probably because I prefer the Edinburgh setting.

From a distance it looks like quite a few of the trees are still comletely bare but they all have some growth I’m sure, although they are definitely further behind than usual. We’ve had such weird weather recently that they really don’t know whether it’s spring or winter.

Going for a good walk is an enjoyable way of burning off some calories and cheaper than joining a gym, in fact it costs nothing but time. It’s a shame we don’t all have somewhere nearby us which we can go and have a wander around to get some fresh air.

Wouldn’t it be lovely if the scientists could invent something like the holo-deck on Star Trek and you could decide where you wanted to spend your leisure time and suddenly just be there. Where would you choose to go?

These are the photos which we took on Sunday, just to compare the leaf growth later in the season.

This is the crop growing in what was that bare ploughed field. As you can see, a lot of the trees still seem to be very bare.

The same field a bit further on. I have no idea what the crop is.

One of the trees which is well in leaf now, some of them still have very little green showing. I believe this is a field maple.

Last time I didn’t take any photos of the golf course which is on the left hand side as you walk up the hill into the farmland but it might be of interest to golfers.

I must admit there are some lovely trees on the course.

Obviously this is just a teeny wee bit of the course. It was designed by Tom Morris in 1904 and if you’re interested in learning more about Kirkcaldy Golf Club, have a look here.

More photos tomorrow.

Now I was never the sort of girl who dreamt of traipsing down the aisle in a big frock, I really had to have my arm twisted, I would have preferred a much quieter wedding and I didn’t buy a dress until less than a week before the wedding, it was cream, just in case you’re interested because I don’t like bright Daz white, it’s especially unflattering if you have pale skin and red hair as I do. But having got the dress, I must admit that I wouldn’t ever part with it. It’s living in a white plastic bag now because its box fell apart and I’ve been trailing it around various house moves over the last 36 odd years – very odd actually!

So I just had to ask the lady in the PDSA charity shop if the dresses had all been donated, and apparently they have been. If only they could speak, they would have some tales to tell I’m sure.

There are some absolute crackers of dresses there, if you happen to be looking for such a thing. Ranging from the 1960s right up to much more recent bridal fashions. There are a couple of lovely 1970s designs, similar to my own dress – think Victorian nightdress. A few of the 1980s designs were bought by a film company recently for use in a film

This one was my favourite, sort of champagne/pale cream coloured, with beautiful embroidered roses on the bodice and sleeves. I can only think that these dresses all belonged to women who ended up getting divorced and didn’t want any reminders of the day at all.

It’s very sad, but maybe things will work out better the next time they take a trip down that aisle. And for any potential brides looking for a bargain – get yourself down to the Kirkcaldy High Street branch of the PDSA. The dresses cost from between £35 and £50 and when you consider that I saw a new wedding dress on sale further along the High Street – just £675 – that was it half price too. It was a hideous thing which best resembled a ruched nylon net curtain. I’d definitely plump for a lovely second-hand dress, after all it’s recycling and if you’re at all bothered about that word second-hand – just call it vintage. And of course, you’re helping sick animals at the same time.

I was sorely tempted to start a wedding dress collection, people do collect them you know, then I remembered, I’m supposed to be decluttering!

It begins in Nebraska and I thought it was going to be one of her rural, pioneer type books which would’ve suited me fine but it goes on to be so much more.

Claude Wheeler is the middle son in the Wheeler family and his parents are quite well off, the farm is successful but Mr Wheeler is an awkward character and Claude doesn’t really fit in. He’s supposedly the brightest son and he’s dutiful and does as he’s told but in truth his father would like Claude more if he was more like his brothers who don’t toe the line and therefore are given more respect for having stronger characters.

Everything which Claude does is wrong and he even ends up marrying a dreadful, cold woman who is only interested in Christianity and prohibitionism. His parents can see history repeating itself as Claude’s father-in-law has had a miserable life with his wife.

Meanwhile the news from abroad is grim as the First World War is raging in Europe and the inhabitants of Nebraska are horrified at the newspaper reports from the old country. They are keen for their president to take them into the war but they have to wait quite a long time. When it does happen, Claude joins up immediately, wanting to escape his situation.

Eventually he gets to France as Lieutenant Wheeler and army life seems to suit him. For once he fits in.

As you can imagine, this is a sad tale, given the subject matter, but it’s something that I’ve always been interested in and I think this is the first novel about that war which I’ve read which has been written by an American. I’d be happy if anyone can recommend any others to me.

I love Cather’s descriptions so here’s a flavour from France.

When the survivors of Company B are old men and are telling of their good days they will say to each other, “Oh that week we spent at Beaufort!” They will close their eyes and see a little village on a low ridge, lost in the forest, overgrown with oak and chestnut and black walnut …. buried in autumn colour, the streets drifted in autumn leaves, great branches interlacing over the roofs of houses, wells of cool water that taste of moss and tree roots.

Patroclus is the son of a King but he’s a disappointment to his father and after a disastrous encounter with Clysonymus, the young son of a nobleman, Patroclus was exiled and sent to live at the court of King Peleus where he meets Achilles and the two become inseparable. It’s all gods and heroes and the Trojan wars but it isn’t very bloody and gory, if you’re worried about that sort of thing.

I was keen on Classical Studies when I was at school but after one year of Greek and Roman mythology I opted to do Latin for three years. In those dim distant days it was only boys who were going to be church ministers who took Greek so they could read the bible in the original. Yes, it was long before any women had even thought of the possibility of going into the church. Greek would have killed me.

Anyway, if you’re at all interested in Greek mythology then I recommend you read The Song of Achilles, it’s well written and entertaining and as Anbolyn said, it does make you want to look further into the subject. I had completely forgotten that the Trojan Wars were supposed to have lasted 10 years or so. Of course apart from fighting, this is basically a love story between Achilles and Patroculus, very delicately written.

Going off at a bit of a tangent – I was watching the Olympic flame being lit in Greece on the news yesterday, and when that sudden gust of wind blew out the flame – I wondered – who is the Greek god of winds? Of course it was Aeolus – as in Aeolean harp. What a bad omen, it doesn’t bode well for the games.

That poor woman!

William French, wine merchant, Master of Wine (failed), somewhere in his early fifties (hardly noticeably, particularly in the right light), loyal subscriber to Rural Living (although he lived quite happily in central London), long time supporter of several good causes (he was a kind man at heart, with a strong sense of fairness) widower, dog-owner, and much else besides; the same William French looked about his flat in Corduroy Mansions, as anybody might survey his or her flat in a moment of self-assessment, of stocktaking.

That’s the first paragraph of The Dog Who Came In From The Cold by Alexander McCall Smith, it’s the second book in his Corduroy Mansions series. I have to say that although it’s not a riveting paragraph it does capture the character perfectly and hints at the humour usually found in McCall Smith’s books.

Going from the title of the book, this one is going to be mainly about the dog, Freddie de la Hay, who is a London version of Percy the dog who inhabits the 44 Scotland Street series. These books couldn’t be called high literature by any measure, but they are comfort reads which is sometimes just what hits the spot.

The next three photos are of some of the local houses which I particularly fancied the look of. The one below is so cute a wean/kid could’ve drawn it.

This one must once have been two flats, as you can see the window at the bottom on the left hand side was originally a doorway. The orange coloured roof tiles are called pan tiles and they were widely used on the east coast of Scotland but they originally came from Holland, they were used as ballast in ships which sailed here.

The one below is altogether much grander and as soon as I saw it I thought it looked very similar to the houses you see in France so I wasn’t surprised to see that its name is Marionville.

This one is of Elie taken from the beach in Earlsferry which is just off the main street there. They are nice wee places to visit but I really wouldn’t want to live there, they feel so remote and there’s not much in the way of shops at all. I don’t fancy having to travel miles to the nearest supermarket when we eventually downsize, so we won’t be moving to this area. The search continues!

It’s set in the fictional Barsetshire village of Worsted, it’s sixty miles west of London and to get there you have to change trains at the village of Winter Overcotes.

As you would expect from a Thirkell book this is a light hearted romance and it mainly concerns the planning and rehearsals for a village play, an annual event. The book is full of characters who say things like: ‘Oh golly, that’s good, I’m frightfully, terribly, ghastly pleased.’

An enjoyable read but definitely not one of Thirkells best. I don’t think she really hit her stride until the outbreak of World War II. The whole thing gave her so much to write about with the big upheaval in society, especially all the red tape and rationing and the influx of foreigners and evacuees.

It’s still worth reading though and I hope to work my way through them all eventually. You can see a list of all of her books here if you’re interested.

Miss Silver is Wentworth’s equivalent to Miss Marple, a spinster who manages to knit as she solves crimes. The twist is that Miss Silver is valued by Detective Inspector Frank Abbott of Scotland Yard and in fact it is he who sends her to the small English village of Tilling Green where someone is sending poison pen letters to the inhabitants, leading to tragedy in at least one case.

Miss Silver is a retired governess and she finds it easy to pose as a lady on holiday in the village and quickly immerses herself in the social scene. She’s soon able to hear all the local gossip and realises that there has been a murder and that there is a vicious and demented killer at work.

It’s absolutely years since I read an Agatha Christie but I think that this book was every bit as good, if not better than a Christie. I didn’t guess who the culprit was, which is always a plus. Miss Silver managed to finish knitting a blue twinset and start a red cardigan whilst she solved the case – not bad going! I’ll be reading more of Wentworth’s books in the future.