Judy Astley has been around long enough (or, at least, my father has been reading Judy Astley long enough) for me to remember the white covers with the vague watercolours. Somehow, these seemed more grown-up than the current pastels. Don't judge a book by its cover, though, and I am still very fond of Judy Astley (and not just because she's an Archers Anarchist - I would be an Archers Anarchist, but I stopped listening after they killed off Nigel). This was a fairly standard effort, playing with her usual preoccupations of family, mortality, and the importance of Doing One's Own Thing. (Query: why, when a man writes this sort of thing, does it count as Great Literature, while the same novel written by a woman would be Chick Lit, or at best an Aga Saga?)
I generally enjoyed this, though was a bit bemused by how the children's partners suddenly became much more interesting propositions half-way through the book. U-turn, though I suppose it was all Point of View... I recognised the trials and tribulations of a huge and unkeep-up-able house from my own childhood; found the parents likeable and their children just about tolerable, and winced at the Surrey jokes. (Funny because true, believe me.)
http://www.bookcrossing.com/journal/10065693