Her adult years have been spent descending through a series of poorly paid posts as a nursery governess, miserably and ineffectually. The daughter of a curate, Guinevere Pettigrew is now approaching forty, with no family remaining, no money, no job, and few skills. The book is a delightful comedy with the satisfying poor-heroine-comes-good romance of a fairy tale, told in near real-time, the chapters leading each hour or period of the day. I was even moved to break the habit of a lifetime: I recommended it to a friend. However charming the film, it is not a patch on the book, which had me chuckling, and smiling, and going back to re-read choice phrases. The film charmed me, so when I stumbled across the book at the library, some time later (I never thought to go out looking for it), I decided to give it a go. Not at the cinema, or any highly advertised venue (I seemed to have missed all the publicity): I came across it in a bargain DVD stack. Although, I must confess: I saw the movie first. Miss Pettigrew was one of those fortunate discoveries I claim credit for it, even if hundreds of bloggers discovered her long before me. I generally discover books by chance rather than design: I avoid heavily publicised books, ignore the recommendations of my friends, and read book reviews after I have read the book (I find them much more interesting then).
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