I have always tried to avoid falling into the trap of blind prejudice about books, but sometimes one should merely go with one’s initial gut reaction. I had anticipated that this book would be dreadful, but in a moment of weakness I decided that I should not surrender to literary snobbery, but should instead give it a chance, on the basis that I have had some wonderfully serendipitous discoveries in the past.

Well that was a waste of time and effort. This book was pure drivel, with no cliché knowingly overlooked. As a consequence of my job I spend a lot of time in Parliament, and found that Ms Currie’s descriptions of it were rather slipshod, too, even though, as a Parliamentarian of long standing herself, she must have known better.

I now know better – in future give any books by her a wide berth! ( )

This is one of the few books in my library that I have not finished: I bought it at a CNA sale many years ago, when Edwina was notorious for having had an affaire with John Major, expecting an inexpensive bonkbuster with a smidgeon of insider political scandal.
I never got more than a quarter of the way in: the characters were unsympathetic, but I can live with that. What I could not forgive was that the book was boring.
It's still stuck away up there in my chickfic section and maybe, one day, when I am desperate and the rest of my books have been ruined by damp or fire, I shall actually read the whole book. ( )