Once, when I was young and robust, I enjoyed cutting edge dramas, gritty literature, blood and gore (in moderation); and scoffed in the face of chickflicks/lit and Hugh Grant. Now I can’t cope with anything that doesn’t have a happy ending.
I’ve just read Two Caravans but the humour (and there was plenty in abundance) was over-shadowed by the worry that these things are really going on and then the dog died.
I hate it when the dog dies.
