I don't know what it is about Dickens. My favorite book of his changes as I grow older. As a youngster I loved the Christmas books, of course, and Nicholas Nickleby. Several years ago it was Martin Chuzzlewit. Then it was Bleak House. Now I adore Little Dorrit. Does anyone else suffer from this fickleness?
Aw. It reminds me that I wanted to have a wedding cake with fondant robins pulling gummi worms out the frosting. My husband wouldn't allow it. Nor would he have "Life in The Fast Lane," rendered as an earnest folk song for the recessional. Good husband, though. *sigh*