Down Memory Lane

My sister pointed out that the dental practice my mother still uses is the one we went to as children. I'd forgotten that. We talked about a dentist called Dresner who had a moustache (unusual in the early sixties) and didn't believe in using any kind of anesthesia. "But he was in Croydon", I said. "No," she said, "He was here in Tonbridge." We batted this about for a while and eventually I conceded she was right. It's left me wondering how much else of my childhood I misremember.

Autumnal

For an instant I thought it was snowing hard- but the flakes were yellow- and rather too large- and of course they were really leaves being blown off a tree. So many in a single gust; the air was full of them.

Hopjoy Was Here: Colin Watson.

There are twelve Flaxborough novels- published between 1958 and 1982- and I'm working my way through them in order of publication. Hopjoy Was Here is the third. They are part murder mystery, part provincial black comedy- elegantly written and sharply observed, with a healthy disrespect for all types of authority. Hopjoy- my favourite so far- supplements the usual satire of small town morals and manners with a loving send up of the Cold War spy story- with particular reference to the works of Ian Fleming. It also- we're talking about the detective element here- had me completely fooled.