Who stole the lid of the teapot?

Whenever anything went missing in our house you could be sure of two things: (1) someone would sing a line from an old song, "Who stole the lid of the Teapot?" and (2) a quick prayer would be offered up to Saint Anthony, patron of Lost Things and Missing Persons. Generally, the offending article would appear right in front of your eyes and we’d all marvel at St Anthony’s dependability. Mind you, I have never lost a real person so the second part of his title has never truly been put to the test. This morning, all I’m asking for is the return of my purse. Whenever it contains more than a fiver I think to myself, now where would a burglar be least likely to look. The big problem is that neither the burglar nor I would have any idea since I’ve slipped it in somewhere so ridiculous that absolutely nobody on this earth could retrieve it in a hurry. Oh, I know I will find it, but I want to write my blog and then take myself off to do the weekend shop this morning. As a result of this fantastic hiding place (it was only last night, for goodness sake) I can’t go shopping. So, now for a book blog...

The Book of Lost Things seems to be the perfect title for this morning’s outburst. Published in 2006, this wildly imaginative adult fairy tale is quite a departure for Irish crime writer, John Connolly. John - I can all him John because having met him (he’s charming) and owned up to not having read any of his books, he duly sent me a signed hardback of the aforementioned title - is known for his gritty, blood thirsty novels with titles like The Killing Kind and Every Dead Thing. In The Book of Lost Things John has had a blast using characters from tales his mother used to tell him and has brought them back to life with a twist. After reading, you will never think about Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs in quite the same way again. The Crooked Man is deviously horrible and in a land populated by heroes, wolves and monsters we travel with young David who, having lost his mother, has to learn to overcome grief and get on with his life.

Now, where did I put my purse...