"Honestly. At 76 — addicted to Candy Crunch"

IT’S 1am, London, and I’m sitting on my sister’s sofa, talking to my mother, who’s just called the landline. 

In time-honoured tradition, my mother inquires after me, then my four children. But today, her investigation feels unusually rushed. And, in another departure from the norm, our conversation doesn’t then immediately pivot into our Two-Way Book Recommendation Service.

My mother launched this service when she recommended Czardas by Diane Pearson to me at 14, thereby saving me from the dismal run of Dickens my late father had recommended.