Regency romances have always been my preferred comfort reads. But it wasn’t until Bridgerton premiered on Netflix that I first heard of the woman who wrote the books that the series was based on. Delighted to stumble upon an undiscovered author of this period, I hastened to download my first ever Julia Quinn and settled down to devour her in one gulp.

Well, imagine my disappointment when I found the book very heavy going indeed. At this point, perhaps, I should mention that when it comes to Regency romances, my benchmark is the late, great Georgette Heyer. Her plots are ingenious, her characters are captivating, her dialogue positively sparkles, and she brings the historical milieu alive with the lightest of touches. Julia Quinn, not to put too fine a point on it, achieved none of the above – well, in my opinion, at least.

But as I forced myself to read until the very end, I couldn’t help but wonder why this series of books had found a visual home on Netflix while nobody seemed to have the slightest interest in making a series out of the splendid novels that Georgette Heyer wrote in her lifetime. What I wouldn’t give to watch a series that featured the most feisty of Heyer’s heroines, feminists of their time, who found a way to flourish in the male-dominated world of Regency England?

Can you imagine The Grand Sophy on the small screen? With Jacko the monkey perched on her shoulder, a tiny but lethal pistol tucked away in her reticule, her riding habit clinging to her statuesque form as she cantered through Hyde Park? Or the lovely Venetia, languishing in the countryside with only her disabled brother for company, where she meets – and subsequently, tames – the tempestuous Lord Damerel? Or the infamous Lady Barbara Childe, the scandalous widow who sets all of Brussels talking with her wild ways as the countdown to the battle of Waterloo begins?

I could go on, because every book of Heyer’s could provide great material for a TV series; but for some mysterious reason, she just doesn’t make the cut.

The same is true of another great favourite of mine: Daniel Silva and his series of spy novels featuring the Israeli assassin, Gabriel Allon. But though, over the years, we have heard the odd muttering about how a TV series or movie is in the making, nothing has appeared on our screens as yet. And now, with the Israel-Gaza conflict dominating headlines and dividing world opinion, I guess we will have to wait for calmer times until someone is going to risk bring Allon to life on the small screen.

Until that happens, I would be quite content to see Donna Leon’s Commissario Brunetti series, set in beauteous Venice, brought to a small screen near us (there is a German production that has done that, but I’d rather hold out for an Italian or English version). Or, at the very least, I would like to see S.J. Bennett’s series of books in which Queen Elizabeth (yes, the very same!) moonlights as a detective in her spare time translated to TV. It would be like The Crown and Christie coming together to create magic, and who wouldn’t pay good money to see that?

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