I fear I have got old. Too old for chick lit. It’s a fucking worry. All things cocktails and crushes are not holding my attention anywhere near as much as they once did.
This is what happened. I temporarily halted my reading of the new book by Paige Toon Pictures of Lily as I was lucky enough to get sent a shiny new proof of WDWHTLWM by my chum Bernie and ravaged it like a hungry beast.
So I’ve just this week picked PoL back up again and have reached a crucial stage, as Lily has just bumped into the object of her teenage lust after 10 years apart…
This is Paige’s fourth book, and I have really enjoyed her previous three ( Lucy in the Sky, Johnny Be Good, and Chasing Daisy )… But. I think I need some more death, or middle aged heartache, or divorce, or infidelity, or motherhood, or old people care, or redundancy, or wrinkles and Tena Lady – just something that relates more to my life now, not my life 20 years ago… Don’t get me wrong Paige. I know it’s ME not YOU that’s changed… the issues that resonated with me in my teens and early twenties just don’t cut the mustard anymore. And that realisation has given me the blue's let me tell you.