So rich and so strange -- Ruth Leigh
The first thing I think about when packing for a holiday or trip is which books I will take with me. Lower down on my to do list, a curious bystander will find the usual items. Pants. Toothpaste. Jeans. Earrings. Couple of nice tops. But absolutely the most important thing has to be the reading material. On the rare occasions I have to fly, there is one book which always comes with me as hand luggage and gets me through the terrifying moments as we taxi along the runway and shoot up into the air. At times like these, I pray for a speedy and painless death while furiously reading, “The Victorian House” by Judith Flanders, one of my very favourite authors. It never fails to soothe. Which brings me neatly on to another favourite book, much of it set in Victorian times. I must have bought it ten or so years ago, attracted by the front cover. A young woman gazes into the camera, her high-necked brocade dress and hairdo proclaiming her to be from the nineteenth century. An end...