No one could describe the feelings brought on by the sight of a sink full of dirty dishes like Barbara Pym; I have dedicated a solid quarter of my post-Toast career attempting to do the same and failing (Is this why Philip Larkin was always so sad?
This is the Barbara Pym piece I've been waiting for my entire life, I think.
So is Barbara Pym like if Nancy Mitford wasn't related to fascists and had to think about where meals come from?
Why isn’t blancmange a thing anymore?
This is the Barbara Pym piece I've been waiting for my entire life, I think.
So is Barbara Pym like if Nancy Mitford wasn't related to fascists and had to think about where meals come from?
Why isn’t blancmange a thing anymore?