I purse my lips in aggravation. Of all the places to spend the summer, my parents have chosen here. My mother, the socialite, has chosen to spend her summer a million miles away from the designer boutiques on Oxford Street she covets. My father, the estate agent to the rich and famous, has chosen to spend his summer in a place where the houses barely hit the hundred thousand pound mark. Me? I've chosen to spend my summer at home. But at seventeen, I'm a minor. So my choices don't count. I