Woman’s Hour and I were born in the same year, 1946, a vintage babyboom crop. When Woman’s Hour was twenty-five they had a special edition, and I was invited on it. When they were thirty, I was back to talk about being thirty. Now we are sixty and here is a dippable bedside book that is rather like the programme itself under Jenni Murray’s charge: brisk, unsentimental, well-informed, produced at speed.

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