Wednesday, April 30, 2008

A Hopeless Romantic

Once in a while, art does imitate life.

Presenting... "A Hopeless Romantic" by Harriet Evans. A friend told me about this book and we got so curious that she finally bought it. She's reading it now. I'm next in line.

The book is about Laura, who fell for her friend, who happens to be, IMHO, a jerk.

To cure her heart, she travels with her parents and goes on a vacation trip.

Oh stop, the similarities must end there!

I'll read it first and then tell you if I still need to write a book about my life, or if it already had been written in London.

Check out the synopsis from


The warm and enchanting new novel from the bestselling author of "Going Home". Laura Foster was a hopeless romantic. It was her greatest character flaw, for it was the one thing that genuinely got her into trouble! Her friends know it, her parents know it - even Laura acknowledges she lives either with her head in the clouds or buried in a romantic novel. But what's wrong with seeing the world through rose-tinted glasses, even if it's not delivered her a real-life dashing hero yet? But when Laura's latest relationship ends in disaster rather than a glorious sunset, she swears off men, and particularly hopeless romantic fantasies, for good. With her life in tatters around her, she foolishly agrees to go on holiday with her parents and grandmother (combined age nearly 200!). After a few days of traipsing round Norfolk craft shops and National Trust properties, Laura's ready to tear her hair out. And then, she meets prickly but sexy Nick, estate manager at Chartley Hall, one of the country's greatest stately homes. She swiftly finds she shares more than just a sense of humour with him - in fact, she starts to think she could fall for him. But is Nick all he seems? Or has Laura got it wrong again? Will he be the one who makes her enter the convent permanently or is he The One who could thaw her frozen heart?

The author's other novel is entitled "The Love of Her Life".  Chick flicks and chick lit are such a guilty pleasure these days. Makes me want to write me own and give those London gals a run for their money.

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