This had the potential to be the perfect beach/fireside read. (Despite the loathsome present-tense narrative.) But it failed miserably. It didn't take long for me to be hugely irritated by the constant reference to 'the old people'.
The narrator, Emma, and her flatmate/best friend, Mel, find themselves accompanying Emma's grandmother on a coach trip. See About the Book below. They find themselves to be the youngest (at a decently adult 28), and therefore, everyone else is ancient. They're immature, childish and disrespectful. I began to wonder how they even managed to get dressed in the mornings without a manual. The assumption was that anyone a day into 70 was a fuddy-duddy, complaining, grumpy old fart who just goes on coach trips. This then turned into an ageist, anti-old-people rant.
I think the following summed up the unlikeability of the main character, and I quote: "She’s around his age and looks like a thousand other old people, sort of grey and plumpish." Seriously? I mean, seriously???
To the author: where's your respect, fictional or otherwise.
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