Once in the beau monde, rubbing shoulders with the rich and famous, it rather goes to his head.

Christie wrote two masterpieces (in particular; she wrote many masterpieces, many great books, many good books, and some not-particularly outstanding books: she wrote a lot). I speak of Murder on the Orient Express, and And Then There Were None.

It's the rare non-fiction work that I've happily returned to time and time again, as (a) it's hilarious, and (b) eventually one forgets exactly what went horribly wrong with Grind, or Juno, so it's a bit like reading it again for the first time.