Once a month I wake up with booze on my breath, guacamole in my hair and an ill-defined sense of shame. If I were 21, this might indicate a cracking night out. As I’m 43, it means I got drunk again discussing Jodi Picoult on a near-stranger’s couch. Because like 99.9 per cent of middle-class, middle-aged women, I belong to a book club – and … Continue reading The truth about Book Clubs