Some years back I decided to read all of Christie’s novels chronologically. I’ve mostly been reading them when hung over or when I’ve had a cold, so it’s taken a while.
But today I reached the final book. The novels from the last decade of Christie’s life were, er, not very good, but this was written in the 50s (I think) and published after her death. And it’s lots of fun, even though I guessed who the killer was halfway through.