Oh, be still my beating heart – Aggie is back. Snakes and B……..s – thank the Lord. I have had the most enjoyable couple of days reading, laughing, wondering just ‘who did it?’ in this village mystery. God bless this creation of M.C. Beaton’s, though, of course, I believe Agatha Raisin really exists. She simply must, because she is as grumpy as I am, and makes me feel less alone in my role as the politically incorrect old duck of the universe.

The blurb the publisher sent talks about an eccentric Cotswolds-based detective with an erratic love life and a penchant for G and Ts. Yes indeed. But she is ever willing to leap to the defense of those accused by the dastardly Wilkes, who seems even more determined than usual to close the murder case, whether his chosen perpetrator/s are guilty or not.

And did Sir Charles Fraith really murder his quite dreadful show-jumping wife? And was Agatha his accomplice? What tosh- surely?

And will the glorious Agatha – with the  help of her team of private detectives – end up attempting to hunt down the real murderer. Well, yes, for a price.

Each page glides into the next, evocative scenes are established, pictures are painted, laughs conjured up to  empathetic nods from the reader. Quick, quick, turn another page. Really? Oh, surely not him? Or her? Well, perhaps, and shove off Wilkes, you horrid little twerp.

On and on we go, from a trot to a canter, a canter to a gallop as we are transported to the vineyards of Bordeaux, and back to dear old Carsely. And what about James? Will he enter Agatha’s life again?

Up and over the jumps we go then, cheering on Agatha, loving her, laughing with her, wishing we too lived in Carsely. What romps we’d have, sitting in the pub with Agatha and probably Roy, in his jodpurs, (what a vision)  chewing the cud, or perhaps it should be oats… or, well, whatever horses eat.

Read Hot to Trot. Love it. Live it. Be the better for it. Far more invigorating than a tonic.

Hot to Trot by M.C Beaton. Pub. Constable hb and eBook