The Apricot Colonel is to books what the colour 'apricot' is to any colour sceme: Boring, old fashioned and disappointing.
Halligan uses descriptive language like a teenager uses 'like' and 'you know'. As a result I found myself skim-reading over the unnecessarily verbose descriptive tangents, and moaning "get ON with it!" frequently.
The most entertaining part of this book was the way in which Halligan tries to orientate the reader to the 'high-end' of living... in CANBERRA. I literally laughed out loud when I realised the book was not set in some little village in the Cotswolds, but in flat, daggy, culturally-challenged CANBERRA. Halligan would have you believe that Canberra is Australia's answer to Tuscany.
Might work for foreigners - some of them still believe we're all swagmen or convicts who ride kangaroos to work - but for anyone who's never been to the ACT: it's about as high-end and gourmet as a Ken Done artwork. Pull the other one, Halligan!
Yawn. 2 outof 5.
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