No I’m not about to fill you in on any of the details of MY lurid past. I’m talking about a chick lit novel I read a few days ago and forgot to blog in the madness that was our last few days in London.
My Lurid Past was very lurid and didn’t resemble my lurid past in any way. It was, oddly enough, set in London. Full of sex and drugs and PR.  Not a bad book, as far as brit chick lit goes. If you don’t mind gratuitous sex and drugs. Which I don’t.