In the mid-eighties the author worked as a nanny to a well-connected literary family in London. She wrote letters to her sister throughout the period, and thankfully for us the sister kept all of them. Sally reported that Stibbe's (the author of the terrific
Paradise Lodge) letters made her laugh out loud, and they had the same effect on me. Take this, a conversation about 'knicker theft:'
Me: But - this is the thing - he pegged them onto the line again, after.
MK: After what?
Me: Soiling them.
MK: Eew!
AB: (aghast) Oh no:
Me: No! Not like that, only with mustard.
Both: Eew!
It put a bit of a downer on supper, really.
Love, Nina was made into a BBC series last year. I feel a purchase suggestion coming on.
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