About ten years ago a friend, in a postcard, suggested that if I was short of something to read I should pick up a copy of Queen Lucia. I ignored his advice at the time, until the aforementioned postcard was discovered at the bottom of a box under the bed several months ago. So began a love affair with one of the most enjoyable and entertaining series of books I've read. From Daisy Quantock's guru to Diva Plaistow's sardine tartlets (an eighteenpenny tea for me, I think) every chapter is a gem. At the end of 'Trouble For Lucia' - the last of the series - it was quite painful having to say 'au reservoir' to the most scheming, snobbish, shallow, narrow-minded, tarsome, adorable bunch of friends that I have ever had the pleasure of sitting down to a nice rubber of bridge with.