Miss Pettigrew Lives for a Day

If you’re feeling a bit blue and under the weather, like I was the other day, this book is the perfect tonic. It’s the literary equivalent of a large hot chocolate with clouds of whipped cream followed by a hug from your boyfriend/ girlfriend/ cat.

It’s an unashamed makeover/Cinderella story, but one that is so gloriously light and deftly written you get swept along in a sea of ‘strong stares’ from men with ‘powerful builds’, silk dresses, fur and warm baths.

I am glad I happened to read this when the cold weather hit as a 1930’s set romp through glamorous (but still rainy!) London makes you appreciate this frustrating and yet lovely city.

Miss Pettigrew is such a wonderful character as Winifred Watson perfectly taps into a an emotion everyone has at some point – of feeling inconsequential and lost – and you really feel so desperately sorry for Miss Pettigrew, for she has never had any fun or frivolity in her life, that you realise that those two things, which are so often scorned and looked-down-upon, are clear and purely joyous, and that everyone should have a bit of jaunty flounce every so often.

While this book is not exactly a beacon of feminist thought, it deserves its respect as an unusual portrayal of middle age, where Miss Pettigrew’s life isn’t over because she is forty, which is a subject very few books had dealt with at that time.

But enough critical analysis. I think: drink it up in a day (it’s quite short), gasp with delight, have a warm and happy glow about your person afterwards! Sigh.