A friend of mine thrust the global best seller everyone's banging on about in my hands last week and said: 'John, you might like this.' She was right. I did. But why did I feel guilty for enjoying The Girl on the Train as much as I did. Was it because...
...it doesn't pretend to be anything other than a glorified Whodunnit?
...in true Blackadder style, it twists and turns like a twisty turny thing?
...I know a real life Rachel?
...I'd never thought of anyone doing that with a corkscrew?
...I too find myself gazing from trains into houses that back onto the line?
...its cheesy Scooby Doo confession at the end ('And if it hadn't been for you meddling kids, I'd have got away with it') worked precisely because it was cheesy?
Or was it just because it's a cracking page turner that can be read in one sitting? Anyway, it's saved me the bother of watching the equally hyped film which, apparently, has moved the story from London to New York for no good reason and, by all accounts, has about as much tension as the Postman Pat movie.