As a girl, you aren't supposed to read Spillane or Fleming. The only literature deemed suitable for my teenage years was Thomas Hardy (who probably thought fellatio was an Italian painter) and Jane Austin, or the sort of Mills and Boon romance where the raciest bits went something like 'his muscular arms enfolded her softly yielding body dot dot dot'.

It's no wonder I'm still not sure what it's all called!

LTS