February 2026

This month, the Welston Book Worms were hosted by Nargis Pohil at the Golden Phoenix, which meant two things were guaranteed before a page was even turned: excellent food and the near impossibility of anyone leaving hungry.

Nargis chose our book of the month—Strangeways to Oldham: The Belchester Chronicles by Andrea Frazer—and served a meal that unfolded in courses and commentary.

We began with chilli garlic aubergine and glass noodle salad, both delicately prepared and served cold, before moving on to red-cooked pork belly, steamed chicken and mushroom, shrimp with egg, hot and sour cabbage, tofu and vegetable soup, and pork and chive dumplings. By the time the dumplings arrived, any hope of a brisk, orderly discussion had long since been abandoned.

Strangeways follows Lady Amanda Golightly as she investigates the death of her family friend, Reginald Pagnell. While visiting the Birdlings Serenade Nursing Home, Lady Amanda discovers that Reginald did not die of a heart attack but was poisoned by a cocktail prepared and served by a mysterious visitor.

Her attempts to raise the alarm are dismissed, but she soon encounters another resident—her childhood friend, Hugo Cholmondley-Crichton-Crump—frail, bedridden, and facing the loss of both independence and home. Lady Amanda rescues Hugo from institutional oblivion, installs him at Belchester Towers, and—with the help of her butler, Beauchamp—sets him firmly on the road to recovery. Together, Lady Amanda and Hugo set out to uncover who killed Reginald, and why.

Proceedings were formally opened during the soup course by Alfred Bushwell, who admitted—somewhat grudgingly—that he had enjoyed the story. He was adamant, however, that mysterious visitors bearing alcohol would never make it past the Cosy Days reception desk. As someone who has lived under its watchful eye for some years now, I felt this was a fair assessment.

Joe Halton, midway through his red-cooked pork belly, announced that he would not mind spending his winter years at somewhere like Lazy Days or Cooper’s Chase—the filming location for The Thursday Murder Club. Constance Dilmore put down her chopsticks, fixed him with a look, and pointed out that Cooper’s Chase was in fact Englefield House. “For heaven’s sake,” she added, “who can afford to live in an Elizabethan country estate?” The matter was considered closed.

After particularly generous helpings of aubergine, noodles, and hot and sour cabbage, Gerard Savin raised a more sobering point. Lady Amanda, he noted, was hardly a typical pensioner. Many older people—like Hugo—face loneliness and the grim arithmetic of choosing between heating and food. At this, the table fell quiet. Alfred and I exchanged a look of shared understanding; we both know how fortunate we are to live among friends at Cosy Days.

Sensing the need to lift the mood, our chair, Sonia Featherstone, asked whether anyone had solved the mystery before the reveal. No one had—not even Joe, who had listened to the audiobook. For the second time that evening, unanimous agreement was reached: the murderer had eluded us all.

We finished with coffee and fortune cookies. Mine read: A friend is someone who knows all about you and still loves you.

After an evening like that, it felt less like a platitude and more like a quiet statement of fact.