At the moment I’m listening to the most divine of all such aural treats - a Phryne Fisher novel, namely Murder on a Midsummer Night. I absolutely adore listening to these books by Kerry Greenwood. In fact, I’ve listened to so many of the Phryne books that sometimes, when I’m in a bit of a rush or a tizz, I’ll hear the voice of the unflappable Phryne, as read by Stephanie Daniel, chastising me in her perfect diction, saying “Do calm down, Gitte dear.” In fact I’ve considered adopting 'What would Phryne do?' as a guiding principle for surviving everyday life. Phryne’s solutions to trying situations always involve actions both civilized and imminently sensible, like taking a nap, or having a refreshing shower, or sharing a delicious meal whipped by one’s inestimable cook in the company of honest, interesting friends, or sitting down in a library with a cat on one’s lap and good book whilst being served tea by one’s stalwart butler. Knowledge, culture, art, food, history, loyalty, courage, personable cats, tolerance, sartorial splendour and impeccable manners, all these things make a dip in a Phyrne book a true break from the crassness of the Real World. 
Give me an independent fortune, a slender figure, a great dollop of panache, a Louise Brook’s bob and a time machine, and this wannabe Phryne would be off to the late 1920s in St Kilda in a shot. Anyway, the reason for this post is that I was a few days ago utterly thrilled to discover that there are plans afoot to make a Phryne Fisher television series. I can hardly wait. But by gosh, they’ll have to get it right for it to work, for if they make our peerless heroine any less poised, less chic, less kind, less utterly divine than she is in the books, there’ll be hell to pay. I almost pity the actress who has to step into Phryne's elegant shoes.
And where, I wonder, will they find a cat inimitable enough to play Ember?
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