I gave up on this. Didn't care for the child narrator at all: wildly veered between being "cute & childlike" (please note air quotes, I'm being sarcastic) and then suddenly profound & wise beyond years. Set in Britain, in the long, hot summer of 1976, the best the author could do with this was to remind you, at least once per page, that "it was hot." Did I mention it was hot? And random references to foods from the 70s now considered naff. (Angel Delight. Garibaldi biscuits ...) But there was no real depth to the setting -- I moved to the UK in 1976, and I remember that unusually hot summer very well. (Remember innocently saying to my husband "Gosh, are summers always like this?" He almost did himself an injury laughing ...)
