I don't bother going outside that much, so when I found myself in Bern main train station during rush hour this morning, my brain went from Mondrian to Pollock in about half a second. Talk about sensory overload.
It’s a sad affair when the no-doubt-AI-generated summary of a book has a higher rating than the actual book.
The book itself, A Very Agreeable Murder, is a very fluffy mash-up of Jane Austen and Agatha Christie, pure escapist fun…I can’t see what the point of reading a summary of it would be. You either want the experience of fluffy escapist fun, or you just don’t read it all, surely 🤷♀️
I sometimes thought my father thought he could't die while he still had books on his pending pile (a stab at immortality I seem to be replicating)... so, it was strangely touching to see Tom Gauld has had similar thoughts.
