Remember my question a while back about which Richard Armitage-narrated Georgette Heyer I should listen to while I make a new Regency-era dress?
Well, it took me a while. And I didn’t wind up making a full dress. (Work on the performing arts festival got in the way. Damn it for being a distraction from my distractions!). Anyway. . . I’ve had a bit of a headcold this week and still needed to get something of a kit together for the event on Saturday.
So yesterday, I stayed home from work. After sleeping a bit longer, I decided to make a new underskirt for one of my old empire-waisted sack dresses and call it done. It’s about a two-hour project, so I chose at random to listen to Sylvester.
“Eccentricity may be diverting, Mama, but it is out of place in a wife: certainly in my wife!” ― Georgette Heyer,
After about the first 20 minutes, I had the clear thought in my head, “That Sylvester guy is kinda hot – in a restrained sort of way.” I always chalk this response up to one of my favorite phrases: ‘Hot, hot British repression.” Because, let’s face it. . . it’s pretty hot.
Anyway, I finished the skirt in just over 2 hours. (This is not going to be one of my better historical ensembles but it will be functional and comfortable enough for an informal event, even though I may avoid the cameras.) But I was exactly at the half-way point and had to decide whether to stop there and tackle something else, or just go back to bed and listen to the rest.
“He paused and then said, as though the words were wrung out of him: ‘O God, Mama, I’ve made such a mull of it! What am I to do?” ― Georgette Heyer,
Well, you know which one won, right? I was so thoroughly charmed by all of the characters, I wanted to know how they got to the happy ending. Don’t get me wrong, the plot is a little off-kilter and the big event that forces the two back together again ridiculous. But the characters are so finely drawn and spoken, that by the last several chapters, I was actually crying over how these two feeling characters continually and willfully misunderstanding each other.
Crying! I mean, it’s not like I was listening to A Prayer for Owen Meany or anything! It’s Georgette Heyer. . . and abridged, at that! What strange sorcery is contained in that voice? This is supposed to be a lighthearted romp whilst I tackle a mildly irksome task. Not an exercise unlocking my own damned repressed feelings!
What the actual hell, Richard?
I chalk it up to being my being ill, for I cannot explain it any other way.
. . . As an addendum, I’m now going to finally get his narration of David Copperfield underway. I’ve been saving it all year for my preparations for my annual trip to The Great Dickens Christmas Fair. I’m going two weekends this year and have two dresses to make.
I’m probably going to be a hot mess the whole time.
Think of me.