It was a warm weekend in Bournemouth and I was Hercule Poirot’s new sidekick. 

While he was an honoured guest for the ‘murder weekend’, I remained unsure of my own role.  Sometimes I was completely invisible and able to listen in on the ‘private’ conversations of the many guests/suspects.  This seemed like rather a dishonest plot device to me but my invisibility later proved invaluable when, as could be predicted, a real murder happened as the sun set on the beach.