My Year With Christie

Today is a very historical day in my life. At sixteen years of age I have read all 80 of Agatha Christie’s novels.In case you haven't picked up on it yet, this blog makes me a very delusional person; I seem to be under the impression that people actually care about the insipid and only vaguely interesting events in my life. But I digress, the accomplishment of reading all Agatha Christie crime novels seems to me a very blog-worthy event. 

My choice reading material of this year has not been very socially acceptable; most girls at school still secretly pull out an installment from the Twilight Saga to stimulate them...  I have futilely tried to spread my Agatha Christie epidemic to my friends by lending them my novels. This task in itself is out of my comfort zone as my novels are my equivalent children. I could not love a human child more than I love my leather bound collection of Jane Austen’s works (legitimate analogy folks).  My library of Chrisite's were all returned politely in the same pristine condition..

This social rejection for my fetish did not deter me and in the past year I have filled my head with enough murder to make any sane person deranged (I had reached this mental state long before I commenced my Agatha Christie reading).  My slumber is filled of visions of me parading through the English countryside with Jane Marple on one side, a gun in my hand and murder mystery to solve.

As I approach these Easter holidays I am at a loss as to how I will spend my time. Given I have twice watched all the Agatha Christie film adaptations  the Holland Park Library has to offer, it hardly seems constructive to view them three times in a year.

Perhaps I will raid my Grandma’s movies; maybe Mary and I will have a Agatha-marathon.