Chatty, likeable memoir about a woman who learns to appreciate her own mother when acting as a nanny for two children who have recently lost theirs. Corrigan's short-term stint working in Australia, on her OE, made her somewhat more sympathetic to the determined pragmatism with which she was raised... by her mother, at least. Like many people, Corrigan's childhood was one where the practical realities of childrearing fell mainly on her mum, leaving her dad to be the glittery, fun parent while her mum was the glue that held the family together, and was subsequently - to a child - rather less appealing. As she looks after other people's children, though, and as she eventually has her own, Corrigan's relationship with her mother becomes one of unrelenting appreciation and mutual support. It's an easy read, one that's recognisable if not especially original.

I have to admit, though, my main reaction was to Corrigan's reading material. One of her mum's favourite books is My Antonia by Willa Cather, and she spends the entire five months of her nannying experience attempting to read this book, which is found on the Australian family's bookshelves. She doesn't finish, and is given a copy as a leaving present. I'm sorry to say that all I could think every time this book is brought up (and it's brought up a lot) was "It's only 220 pages long, how much time are you wasting that you can't get through it in five fucking months, Jesus Christ," which I promptly realised made me sound like her mother, albeit considerably more blasphemous. And which reminded me that I have it on my Kindle - albeit it's only 130 pages there - and I still haven't read it yet either. Yes, hypocrisy, thy name is me.