The French exchange was my dad’s idea. As usual, he was thinking of what would be best for me without really wondering whether it would be something I would actually like. As far as I was concerned, the whole thing was unnecessary. Yes, my French wasn’t up to much. But my SATs were still a whole year away and I was pretty sure that by then I’d be able to scrape through without spending two weeks being forcefed Camembert and French conversation. But that’s my dad for you. An overachiever. It isn’t enough that he’s a farmer with about a million acres of land in the Cotswolds. He has a whole load of businesses too. So one day he’s in Wellington boots, the next it’s a pinstripe suit. And he expects everyone in the family to be the same. That’s how I ended up with a twin sister who was top in just about every class in school and a crosscountry champion too. A mum who was brilliant at everything. Even a dog that probably knew how to read. And I hadn’t done too badly myself.
