Irredeemably bleak read, where everyone is too fat or ugly or clumsy, or just bloody horrid, all the housing is dreadful, and the weather can only snow. Christopher has gone off the rails since having his paternal feeling cut from him by his partner, who had a late-term abortion of the baby she didn't want. She, Angela, meanwhile has let herself go, and while married to a boring pedant can't see any step to make to improve her lot. But that couple of olden times, Christopher and Angela, are by far the least unlikeable people on these pages, which start with someone dumping a sack of foetuses destined for an incinerator, and includes post-child abuse investigative surgery. It's very readable, despite the triggers in so many chapters, but it's certainly not an enjoyable thing, and does suffer somewhat from the nagging thought that it was written just to show Sue Townsend was more versatile than her Adrian Mole contracts allowed her to be. I could make my usual barbative comments about how the current 'Mayor' is turning Leicester into a shit-hole of Dantean proportions, but even he seems to be playing catch-up with the city as imagined here.