It’s the hokey-cokey. (Behave, hokey-pokey is an ice cream.) And before you go there, Looking for Nookie lacks gravitas.
How apt that it should start with a chase.
“Child hunt tomorrow, Fanny.”
What a boring life I lead. Walked through the market in the rain today.
This caused the most tremendous stir locally, the Kentish weekenders on their way to church were appalled by the sight of four great hounds in full cry after two little girls. [aged about eight, I think] My uncle seemed to them like a wicked lord of fiction, and I became more than ever surrounded with an aura of madness, badness, and dangerousness for their children to know.
Neat nest of nesses. And here’s another, more insidious.
Continue reading The Pursuit of Love by Nancy Mitford (1945)
Book Bore. 