I bought a CD of Lush’s greatest hits album Ciao, loved it, devoured their back catalogue and the rest is history.

We learn how Berenyi’s parents split when she was four, after which her mother, Yasuko, a Japanese actor, began a relationship with the TV and film director Ray Austin. I’ve no idea if Miki Berenyi has any interest in writing another book – perhaps a novel – but if she did, on the basis of Fingers Crossed, I’d certainly read it!Despite the title hinting at a miraculous quality of music, the book in fact can be treated as a how-to-survive manual, whether she talks about the hostile environment of the music industry or her problematic family life. Disrupted communication with family members, abuse and longing fed into the music that conjures up gothic fantasy worlds in the late 80s setting. Berenyi handles the emotional and practical complexities of all this dysfunction with a capable hand. Fingers Crossed is an incredible account of a trailblazing woman and a seminal band delivered with the vivid, emotional power of an accomplished storyteller.

Her mother moved to Los Angeles, giving Berenyi an early experience of transatlantic travel and adventures in the Hollywood Hills and visits to the family home in Japan.

Miki’s mother, in case you weren’t already aware, is Yasuko Nagazumi, who appeared in the Bond movie You Only Live Twice (with Miki in utero) and the second series of Space: 1999, among others. After the band lands on the solid soil of the 4AD label in 1989, the four find themselves confronted by the challenging forces of the music business.

Berenyi’s unconventional childhood is covered in unsparing detail, putting some of the later rock’n’roll behaviour in some context. By the end of excessive touring at Lollapalooza in 1992, the band had been weary and in dire need of a mental recharge. Following their bitter divorce, she had to split the time between her father, sports journalist of Hungarian descent Ivan Berenyi, and mother, Japanese actress and producer Yasuko Nagazumi. The thought of writing my memoir seemed like a ridiculous idea when Pete Selby from Nine Eight Books approached me. A combination of student grants, studying in London and a ridiculously low cost of living (unachievable now in London) gives them weekly access to gigs, and their contacts lead to a job in the industry for Anderson.One of the pictures from that period displays Berenyi, bruised and worn out, on a hospital bed after her desperate stage diving that followed an unpleasant incident with Pearl Jam. The Britpop years, and the lad culture that grew around it, are brilliantly eviscerated in a five-page rant in which Liam Gallagher and former Loaded editor James Brown, among others, don’t exactly emerge covered in glory. I was quite late to the party with Lush; so late, in fact, that the party was over and all that remained were half-empty wine bottles and cheesy nibbles ground into the carpet. Having kids taught me that simply feeling love isn’t enough, that it needs care and attention and effort – compromises to be made, demands to be met, the right environment – to thrive”.

They made music that ranged from ethereal 4AD fare to indie pop belters, but never seemed part of a scene as such, both their music and the people who made it not being so self-limiting. Berenyi says of this time “ People think they toughest time for a band is at the beginning, when you’re struggling to make it.You might naively assume that having a parent in the entertainment industry comes with a degree of financial security, but the author makes it clear that this is far from being the case. Mostly, though, the two come across as the pioneers of memory: sisters-in-arms partaking of the fun on offer – Lollapalooza was bonkers – but refusing, as best they could, to do degrading photoshoots, fighting for their artistic vision in the face of music biz pressure. It is as open and honest as it could possibly be, Berenyi has the knack of being able to sum up people’s characters in a sharp and concise manner, a gift she turns on herself more than she turns it on anyone else. Her Hungarian father was a hard-partying journalist, a womaniser ill-equipped to raise a child, especially in the wake of his partner turning heel.