memoirs, art and fragments by Thomas Milner

I have a first (completed) edition of Little Dorrit by Charles Dickens dated London 1857.

I must confess that I haven’t read it (nor have any intention of reading the blighter).

ONE OF THE ILLUSTRATIONS BY H.K.BROWNE

To be honest my heart doesn’t miss a beat when I hear the name Charles Dicken … he was the literary Big Mac of the 19th century in my opinion – quantity rather than quality, if you catch my drift … just waiting for TV to be invented … the Bee Bee Cee would certainly have had him on the payroll as scriptwriter-in-chief.

I read a couple like everyone else, dutifully waded through Great Expectations, doggedly ploughed through Oliver Twist but couldn’t be doing with it myself, too many words … oh for gawd’s sake get to the point, will ya!

Mind you, he wrote a couple of decent ones A Tale of Two Cities, though in my humble abode he was drifting slightly out of genre with that one (historical novel, innit) … punchy opening though It was the best of times, it was the worst of times goes with a swing I mean, but your Christmas Carols, your Dombeys And Sons, your Little Dorrits, your Mutual Friendsoh please, do me a favour!

But Bleak House was a cracking good TV series, wasn’t it?

Don’t know what I shall do with this unreadable book, any ideas?

Ah, zut alors! I’ve just noticed that the spine has cracked …

BOOK, BEATEN & BATTERED (BUT NOT BY ME, NOT BY ME)

What the Dickens is going on?

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