{Yes, that's me, signing a copy of my zine, A Catalogue of Bodies, for @David_Suchet, after the brilliance of The Last Confession. What a hoot! What a thrill!}
{Dear David Suchet fans and Agatha Christie crime-clubbers, a signed copy of my zine, A Catalogue of Bodies, I shall treasure.}
It went prr—prr—puff—piff—clitter—clatter—bom, burum—bom, burun—bom—in the wildest confusion, while the Mouse-King and mice squaked and screamed, and now and then the mighty voice of Nutracker was heard, as he gave the necessary order, and he was seen striding along through the battalions in the hottest fire.
(From E. T. A. Hoffman’s Nutcracker and Mouse-King, translated from the German of Hoffman by Mrs. St. Simon, with illustrations on wood, 1953, New York, p.43)
Thanks to The Australian Ballet, the week has been one filled with (my beloved) mice in regimental attire and a visit to the pages of E. T. A. Hoffmann’s Confectionville where characters sport “aprons braided with humming-bird’s feathers”. And putting my timber soldiers in polished attire back under the magical tree, it has also been a week that has taken me back to the charm of the The Comedy Theatre to see David Suchet in the glorious red robes of a Cardinal performing in The Last Confession.
Afterwards, to my great delight, I waited in the foyer in a snaking line of punters brimming with anticipation and clutching their programmes and favourite Agatha Christie tales. In my hands, a copy of my (fan)zine A Catalogue of Bodies to give to David Suchet, and a second copy to have signed. When my turn came, I lost the ability of speech and bumbled a snatch of words, which is, I’ve concluded exactly as it should be when one crosses the briefest of paths with one’s heroes. I was terribly flattered that David Suchet asked me to sign his copy of my zine. Though the pen in my hand transformed itself into an unfamiliar form, I managed to scrawl on the page my first name, an exulted ‘enjoy!’ and a kiss for good measure. No ‘Best wishes', or ‘Dear’ in the address, just two short words and an ‘X’ in a corner threatening to tumble off the page.
How tame, how quiet my next week will seem without the Regent Rodent and the magical materialization of Poirot before my very eyes.
Mr. Satterthwaite looked cheered.
Suddenly an idea struck him. His jaw fell.
"My goodness," he cried, "I've only just realised it. That rascal, with his poisoned cocktail! Anyone might have drunk it. It might have been me."
"There is an even more terrible possibility that you have not considered," said Poirot.
"Eh?"
"It might have been ME," said Hercule Poirot.
(From Agatha Christie's Three Act Tragedy, Fontana Books, 1957, Great Britain, p.192)
{Harvested still from Cat Amoung the Pigeons, 2008, from the zine A Catalogue of Bodies, first and second edition}
{Harvested still from The Hollow, 2004, from the zine A Catalogue of Bodies, first and second edition}
{Harvested still from Curtain, 2013, from the zine A Catalogue of Bodies, second edition}
{Harvested still from The Big Four, 2013, from the zine A Catalogue of Bodies, second edition}
+ A few copies of A Catalogue of Bodies can still be found in our online store (and all September long, we are offering free postage when you use the code 'Zarafa' upon checkout)
+ I refuse to throw a slipper at the Rodent Regent
+ Golden Age Bohemian: Artuš Scheiner (50 Watts)
+ @ausballet, What is Beauty: "We asked our friends Gracia & Louise, wonderful artists and balletomanes, to tell us what beauty means to them"
+ What is Beauty, a collage of moving parts for The Australian Ballet to herald their 2015 season
(Post title plucked from Agatha Christie's Five Little Pigs)
