Lorna Martin has written a book about her time undergoing psychotherapy in her Glasgow hometown. Initially hearing this was the subject matter of her autobiographical novel, I wanted to head for the hills. Most readers probably would too. But Martin has laced the actual accounts of her psychotherapy into a Bridget Jones-does-therapy narrative. Much of the novel seems to be based on real people in her life, and yet it reads like a novel. Apart from a few wordy self-analysis sessions, this is a relatively pleasant chick-lit read. I have to say that part of me passed judgment on the “trauma” of her past and an old British saying sprang to mind: “She doesn’t know she’s born.” In other words, if her childhood experiences were traumatic, then she needs an average day in South Africa to put her straight.