Bookwitch

Cathy Hopkins has made me young again. Fourteen, to be exact. I’ll have you know I don’t FEEL young (knees still creak and so on), but I’ve had to lie about my age. To receive Cathy Hopkins’ newsletter you have to register, which includes your age. For some very obscure reason the list of possible years of birth ended with 1963. So still a bit short. Decided I wouldn’t mind trying fourteen once more.

And if I really was fourteen, I’d be so pleased to have Cathy’s books to read. We had nothing like this the first time I was fourteen. Between Charles Dickens and Jules Verne on the one hand, and some horse or nurse series on the other, there was a gap where Cathy’s books could have done a good job.

For those of you who are now raising an eye brow or two at the thought of these “light” looking books, I have been there too. But when Cathy was our author of the term at Offsprings’ school a few years ago, I read half a dozen in one week. Now, that was too much; rather like eating too much cake. But spread out at a more normal pace, they’re great. Daughter and I have fought over each one as it’s published. Now our friends from Mates, Dates and Truth, Dare, Kiss, Promise have been pensioned off, though as I’m only fourteen I do get the odd email from some of the characters still.

Cinnamon Girl is Cathy’s latest, out now. And it’s lovely too. Just as with the earlier books Cathy writes about the things teenagers do. In this case a bit of smoking and drinking and getting drunk, as well as going out with bad boys and knowing where and when to stop. With Cathy you don’t need an agony aunt. You see your fictional friend making mistakes and you see them learning from them. Because who’d listen to a parent?

And when in Camden Market, we always look out for Lucy and Izzie and co. They’re nearly real.