My sister bought this memoir for me, commenting that the tales of camping holidays in the UK and France in the 1970s would remind me of our childhood—though I must immediately clarify that, as the youngest sibling, the 1970s predate my arrival!

The book did, however, bring back memories. It was funny: there were anecdotes that made me laugh out loud, and also reminded me of situations in which we’d found ourselves.

Kennedy spins a good yarn: there aren’t many writers who can eke out pages of humour and tension from getting lost when driving in France, for example. She has real storytelling skill.

By the end, though, I began to struggle: it did feel a little strung out and perhaps a touch repetitive to me. To sustain its length, I would have preferred it to be a little more grounded in growth or self-reflection, or perhaps to have a little more variety of mood or depth of characterisation.

But I nevertheless enjoyed this. It was very nostalgic, and I would never have come across this book by other means, so that makes it a great present.