Occasionally work demands that you go above and beyond the call. It sets you a task that stretches you to the limit of your tolerance and mental ability.

That call came before the last issue of the Irish Echo. It became clear would have to read PS: I Love You, as the film hits the big screens here in Oz on St Stephen’s Day and all blokes need to be aware of the emerging danger.

The first paragraph of the article read:

‘As a bloke, it’s hard to feel anything but genuine fear at the release of another chick flick. And when a sure-fire behemoth like PS I Love You rolls out, as it does here on December 26, you do feel like locking yourself in a garage with power tools, beer and porn to fend off the whirling spirits, high on oestrogen, wailing at you to go to the cinema.’

The word ‘porn’ was later subbed out to read ‘mates’. We’re a family paper.

So that none of you have to suffer a similar fate, here is the “I read it so you don’t have to” (©Una) version of the book. Beware, spoilers lurk. If, after reading this book, you still feel compelled to read the book, please buy it second-hand. That way, no-one in the perfidious system gets enriched by these crimes against literature.

Chapter One
It begins. “Their plan had been very simple: to stay together for the rest of their lives.” Optimistic, Cecelia, but ask your Daddy, this isn’t always a simple plan, and you’re clearly setting us up for a fall here. We’re on page one and I can see it coming.

Holly ‘steadied herself to her feet’, obviously after her legs give way due to the ogoing grief of Gerry’s death. Can you steady yourself to your feet? Can you steady yourself ‘to’ anything? You can steady yourself against something, beside something, but ‘to’ something? C’mon Cecelia, don’t hack the language up any more than it is already. Let’s set a good tone, here.

Chapter Two
The List makes its appearance. Gerry (dead hubby) was making a tongue-in-cheek list of things for Holly (hot young widow) to do in the event of his death. The concept of the list morphs into his actual instructions from beyond the grave, forming the basis for this taste-defying bestseller. Remember that the alarm is on before you open the windows, he says. Remember that the cereal goes in the bowl BEFORE the milk, Holly. Remember to turn off the light before you go to bed. Remember to breathe in, breathe out, breathe in…. Vomit.
How many couples are now doing this every time one of them gets the sniffles and senses imminent death, putting their ‘original’ little twist on it? On my list: No more chicklit for you, missy. It rots your brain and turns you into a cunt.
I’m building up a nice head of sarcasm here when, WHAM, Holly finds an empty milk carton in the fridge – something Gerry said he’d put on that famous list of his and all of a sudden: FUCK! I am actually gagging to see the list. The virus that is this book has gotten under the skin very quickly and is spreading to my brain because I am curious. Curious but furious. Furious because Cecelia used the “…” at the end of a paragraph just now, that subtle-like-a-brick Leaving-Cert device that hints at a really predictable outcome. She uses it twice in the one paragraph, actually. In fact, look, it’s there on the cover: “Holly thought love would last forever…” Aaaargh! Fuck! I want to strangle her, but know that if I do, I won’t find out what’s on the list. I want to strangle myself for wanting to know what’s on the list. This book is tearing me apart and I’m only on page 11. read more »