Sex. There’s a lot of it about. And Stella is definitely not getting her fair share.

          She’s also got a few handicaps: she’s the wrong side of thirty-five, she’s a single mum (to the adorable Honey), and her French hot-bloodedness is liable to turn grown men pale. Mind you, the men she meets are either perma-tanned, tight-trousered smoothies with strangely white teeth or – easy, tiger – balding, poorly socialized podgers. One lot have black satin sheets; the other lot have, well, wives. What’s a girl to do?

          Dividing her time between London’s most PC playgroup )most popular children’s names: Ichabod and Perdita) and lessons on the art of pulling from her good-looking house-mate Frank (shame he’s got ginger hair everywhere), Stella is seriously starting to wonder if she’ll ever have sex again.

          Outrageously entertaining, Don’t You Want Me? is not only the wickedest book you’ll read all year, but also the funniest.