Firstly, I have always loved Sarah Harding. For me she stood out in Girls Aloud. Thought she was especially gorgeous. Loved her vivacious, OTT, wild, personality. Also helped that I loved Girls Aloud music. They kind of epitomise everything I like about pop music. Great image, great music, glossy, high energy, with indie musical elements thrown in. Pure pop basically. To hear that Harding has got terminal cancer is simply heart-breaking. How unfair that someone in their prime is being taken. So, so cruel. You might expect this book to be a complete downer as a result. In fact, it's heartfelt, honest and never mawkish. In a strange way I found it weirdly uplifting actually. I think that may be to do with the fact that she's describing in real time the outpouring of affection for her from her family, friends and fans and what that is giving her. You get the sense that she always had a fragile confidence and perhaps she is only now getting a sense of how loved she is. The story also manages to highlight the impact of lockdown on other non-covid illnesses and the incredible role of the individuals in NHS in her care. Your heart goes out to her, especially as she mentions her regrets. For example, the sudden realisation on the phone to Cheryl when she realises she won't have children. What's also lovely about this book is that Harding gets the chance to set the record straight on so many of the tabloid stories told about her. You can tell she's gotten a lot from the process of writing this book. I guess she's documenting her legacy, her life: taking back control of her narrative. Good for her.