Some of you may remember me lamenting that I started about ten books last
year, then got distracted by Vogue, Elle, Frankie, Peppermint, Vintage Life, etc
etc etc and finished not a single one. Not one. So this year, I'm finishing my books.
The first I conquored was You'll be sorry when I'm dead by Marieke Hardy.
It's a cack! The long-forgotten cultural references of growing up in
Australia in the 1980s blew my mind. Loved, loved, loved it.