My wife has invented a new literary genre – or at least a new name for a familiar one.
We had a friend from Auckland to stay for the weekend – I think he was hoping that I would take him duck shooting, as Saturday was the start of the season, but this year I’m not going.
He is a books person and was trying to describe a new book he had for review. “It isn’t chick lit,” he said, “more for women readers who are a bit older than that. They would read Paullina Simons, Nicholas Sparks, Jenny Pattrick. You know.”
My wife said, “You mean, chook lit?”