I set out thinking I wasn't going to enjoy Garrison Keillor and his tales of Lake Wobegon. American, sentimental, nostalgic, corny, 'Thurberesque' – his world, as described by critics, seemed to have all the ingredients likely to deter a hard-bitten and frivolous Englishman. But the Americans have a wonderful way of winning one over and they do it with their sincerity. Keillor may be sweetcorn but there is nothing phoney about him.

In case you don't know by now, Lake Wobegon is a little town somewhere in the middle of Minnesota which, in turn, is somewhere in the middle of America. It is the kind of town where Mr Keillor imagines the following conversation taking place between two people driving through it