Thrill Seekers

One summer holiday, bored and 11 years old, I embarked on a trawl through the wardrobes in my Grandparents’ spare bedroom. Most of the discoveries were unpromising: an old coat, a great quantity of pillowslips, and my mother’s teenage collection of Elvis 45s, which at that time were below my condescension.

But then, in the middle drawer, I found a small stash of books buried beneath an ageing electric blanket – my Grandma’s Jackie Collins collection. Jackpot. I spent a happy afternoon riding the giddy waves of such an illicit oeuvre, without ever once wondering whether they took Gran on a similar journey.

In any case, within a few weeks I was at secondary school, and a well-thumbed copy of Judy Blume’s Forever was passing between us. To this day, I couldn’t tell you the plot; the previous owner had helpfully turned down the pages at the beginning of each sex scene.