I saw this book in the street and I simply could not resist buying it for a highly competitive pricing of 50 shillings. I used to read Jenny Colgan in my childhood, and it was like a blast from a romanticized hormone filled past.

I don’t know if Miz Colgan writes anymore, but this is one of her older contributions to the chick lit world. IMHO, everyone needs a little dose of chicklit every so often, but it doesn’t mean you have to pick bad chicklit. For those hot and heavy imaginations, old school Amanda Quick or new school Johanna Lindsey will do (because everyone knows the plot after like the 3rd Judith McNaught. Not to knock her or anything – her career has definitely not been for…naught. :D) For light hearted Bridget Jones variety time, Colgan does just fine.

Do you remember the first time? is about Flora Scurrison, who has a life she thought she wanted – a nice boyfriend (well, nice enough), a good though harrowing job, enough money for expensive face creams and dinners – she has it all. More or less. This is how she and her best friend Tashy kind of planned to be living at the ripe old age of 32. Then at Tashy’s wedding (which she suspects Tashy didn’t want to get into in the first place), she makes a wish and this wish literally changes her entire life, giving her a chance to make decisions to leave her complacency and live the life she’s always wanted to…or not. What does she decide? The plot ever thickens.

There’s a good dose of humour – just how I like it. A lot of what Colgan says is exactly what I think about a lot of things, and what happens after the wish makes you reflect quite a bit on whether or not you should be making the decisions you make. I mean if you only have one life to live, and you don’t know when you’re going to die…then why not live the life you want, amirite?

An amusing read that I did not mind going back in time for.

Which was fine, of course. Lots of people did it. In fact, at the moment, it seemed a hundred percent of everyone was doing it. I glanced at Olly. I had a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach that he might be thinking it was about time that he, too, just did it. Just little things. Like he took over my bill paying because it would make it more convenient. (It did, too; for an accountant I’m shocking with my money, like all those dipso doctors telling you to cut down on the booze. I always leave it till somebody’s threatening to come round and total my kneecaps.) Or, maybe we should get a kitten? (If I wanted a small malevolent creature crawling round my kitchen demanding food I’d have a baby, thank you.)