I do recommend that you have in your life at least one friend who will share all your Lord Peter girlish fandom and all your Harriet Walter Worship and not only have buttons made but bags printed to prove it. God bless Potato Killer!


p.s. We have spent many a late night reciting this Gaudy Night passage to each other on SarahB’s sofa bed during Harriet Walter Weekends:

So, thought Harriet, it has happened. But it happened long ago. The only new thing that has happened is that now I have got to admit it to myself. I have known it for some time. But does he know it? He has very little excuse, after this, for not knowing it. Apparently he refuses to see it, and that may be new. If so, it ought to be easier to do what I meant to do.

She stared out resolutely across the dimpling water. But she was conscious of his every movement, of every page he turned, of every breath he drew. She seemed to be separately conscious of every bone in his body. At length he spoke, and she wondered how she could ever have mistaken another man's voice for his.

Here we are reading it to Franklin and Eleanor Roosevelt:


Here we are reading it in Central Park when Billie Jean King walked by:


Aw man, good times. Anyway, she’s the best and I love her very much. Obviously.