The Last Devil to Die (Thursday Murder Club, #4)

by Richard Osman

What is it about Christmas? Everything that’s wrong seems worse, and everything that’s right seems better.

“Car B disappears, back whence it came . . .” “No one else I know says ‘whence,’ ” says Connie. “Then you must widen your social circle,” says Ibrahim.

Ibrahim has stuck a Post-it note on both his printer and his laminator saying What would Greta Thunberg do?

Hahahaha

There are still Christmas decorations up. That’s bad luck, Joyce. Garth asks Alan if Joyce knew this was bad luck. Alan barks. Joyce knows: she just likes them too much.

I asked Elizabeth if she thought we’d be invited to the wedding if Donna and Bogdan ever got married, and she said, “Can’t you concentrate on heroin for two seconds?”

We had a lunch yesterday with some very unsavory characters, and it was a lot of fun.

Love always finds a language.

grief rides alone.

The daffodils are out very early this year. I’ve seen the daffodils bloom for nearly eighty years now, and they are still a miracle to me. To still be here, to see the flowers that so many other people won’t see. Every year, poking their heads up to see who’s still around to enjoy the show. Though they are out very early this year, which I know is probably global warming, and everyone will end up dying. You can still appreciate a flower though, can’t you? Gives you hope, despite the apocalypse.