When Lucy Lovett’s husband loses his city job in that thing called ‘the recession’ and they move to Manhattan, she faces a sequence of challenges: the law of the school gate, fitting in with the other yummy mummies, finding the best coffee in the borough, and dealing with switching to drugstore hair dye.

It’s terribly hard work for this Englishwoman in New York, especially since along her ‘journey’ she befriends three brittle American bitches. There’s glamorously psychotic script-writer Julia, penthouse passive-aggressive Christy and endearing bohemian Robyn who shags other people’s husbands on yoga mats – you go girl!

Reading this book is like logging on to Gwyneth Paltrow’s website GOOP if it were riddled with viruses. It is a series of fragmented, fatuous blog posts masquerading as a novel: how to snag a rich husband and gain a converted barn in the Hamptons; how to cope when you can’t conceive with your frozen embryos at age forty-five – tried Horse Therapy?

While there are some relatable moments (the recession really did happen), ultimately this Englishwoman is as inauthentic as her ‘fun fur’ gillet.