However while slaying dust elephants in the front bedroom, I somehow mislaid my fuzzy sleep socks. I remember that morning thinking that I was taking them off in the wrong room and would I please remember what room it was. Didn't. Far as I can see they're nowhere in the upstairs at all. Like the hoodie, they've probably slid underneath something; I look forward to finding what it is.
Finished the final Rutledge yesterday, muttering to the last at the unlikely suspects these country policemen (and Scotland Yard detectives) fix on. I hope this isn't at all historically accurate, but I'm afraid it is: 'the chief inspector is pressing us to solve the case, here's a handy foreign national wandering the country, no reason for him to murder some chance strangers in the countryside with laudanum-laced wine but let's charge him anyway.' Motive, guys, motive: do you even know the meaning of the word?
Am now engrossed by In the Woods, with its pleasing echoes of Peter and Leslie. Am told the denouement is a disappointment but the trip there is all kinds of fun.