There's no track like a soundtrack

I've been watching Mr Mercedes on Amazon Prime, the 2017 adaptation of Stephen King's novel. It's okay, rather than spectacular. Brendan Gleeson is reliably excellent as our hero, retired detective Bill Hodges. Harry Treadaway is a standout as the antagonist psychopath Brady Hartsfield. There's a perfectly serviceable supporting cast too. But the real star is the soundtrack.

Example, you say? How about three. These were all in one episode.

Okay, so the T Bone Burnett track is the theme tune, so is in every episode, and Tunefind tells me the Donovan track is used in a lot of film and TV. But even so, there's hardly an episode of Mr Mercedes that doesn't have me scrabbling for the Internet to ID one tune or another.

That Was The Year That Was: 2025

Incredibly, this is the fifteenth time I've recapped a year like this (for completists, here are the others). Fifteen times, blimey ... God alone knows what we are both still doing here...

But since we are hanging around, still, I'll crack on with this nonsense, whilst you gaze in wonderment at just how staid, parochial and predictable I am.

It'll keep us both busy, if nothing else. Having said that, I've written noticeably less than in years gone by, so I won't keep you for long - we can all be thankful for that.

Best album

Well, there have been a couple of stand-outs for me this year: the unexpected joy of More by Pulp, and Antidepressants by Suede, who continue to surprise us all with the excellence of their third age.

Also noteworthy are Bowerbirds and Blue Things by Jetstream Pony and Find El Dorado by Paul Weller, the latter proving what a great reinterpreter he has always been.

Best song

Many of the songs I've heard for the first time this year are old, just new to me. But of 2025 releases, I've been impressed by Masquerade by Cardinals, Bonnet of Pins by Matt Berninger and Disintegrate by Suede. Oh, and a late dive for the tape was made by The Light Won't Shine Forever by Aussie band Floodlights. The nod, though, goes to Apple Green UFO by Andy Bell, which makes me feel about 30 years younger than I am. Who could ask for more? Here's the full length version to luxuriate in...

Best gig

As good as the usual suspects (The Smyths, From The Jam, The Wedding Present) have all been, and as good a night out as Roger Daltrey (morphing into Warwick Davis) was, the nod here, unsurprisingly, goes to the Gene reunion show at the Hammersmith Apollo in October. Literally everything I could ever want from a gig.

Best book

Like the song category, this has been tricky because most of what I've read for the first time this year has been old: Cider with Roadies by Stuart Maconie was very enjoyable, but was published in 2005. Angela's Ashes by Frank McCourt, though an astonishing work of memoir, is even older (1999). But of course I can always rely on Stephen King - Never Flinch was not only published this year but also dependably enjoyable, even if not his best work.

Best film

The year was bookended by stand-outs: Dylan-goes-electric biopic A Complete Unknown at one end and Edgar Wright's ever-so-slightly-disappointing take on vintage King (as Bachman) The Running Man at the other. In between, A Big Bold Beautiful Journey deserves a special mention, for really making me think, whilst Brad's F1 and Tom's Mission Impossible: The Final Reckoning both delivered predictable thrills without reinventing cinema. I must also mention Nina Conti's brilliant surreal simian road movie, Sunlight. Oh, and as a dad, it was lovely to share movie nostalgia with Amusements Minor with the live-action remake of How To Train Your Dragon.

Best theatre

I haven't seen much on stage this year. Does an NT Live cinema screening of Dr Strangelove count? Steve Coogan was excellent in four roles. Also noteworthy was the 30th anniversary on-stage gathering, for performance and anecdotes, of The Fast Show ensemble, minus the late Caroline Aherne. Aren't end-of-year round-ups brilliant?! Oh, and I finally got to see the Jon Ronson: Psychopath Night stage show. Entertaining and thought-provoking stuff.

Best television

I feel like I must have forgotten something, because this reads like a really slow year for TV. Finally got Wednesday 2 on Netflix, which was good but inevitably not as good as the first series, despite a liberal sprinkling of Joanna Lumley. Like the rest of the nation, Amusements Towers got into Celebrity Traitors, despite never having watched a single moment of the regular, non-celebrity version. Apologies if there's a theme developing, but Celebrity Race Across The World also hits the spot in our house. And as I write this, we're half way through Stranger Things 5, so far living up to the almost impossible levels of expectation.

Best sport

I enjoyed Liverpool FC winning the Premier League, even if it felt anticlimatic. Just as well, because they've blown up a bit this season. Other notables included Iga Świątek at Wimbledon and Georgia Hunter Bell at the World Athletics Championships (both awesome), and the Lionesses at the UEFA Women's Euros.

Person of the year

Well, it's not a person but a thing: the NHS. Fourteen years of Tory underinvestment have left it on its knees and, as a result, it's pretty far from perfect these days. Yet still it goes on, against the odds, delivering care and services to our sick and injured. It's easy to point out when things go wrong in the NHS, and to be frustrated by bureaucracy and poor communication... but it gets so much right, still, even in the most trying of circumstances. We'll miss it when it's gone, you know.

Tool of the year

Trump again, obviously. Not content with sending troops into US cities for paper-thin, politically motivated reasons, claiming to end wars that have not ended, failing to touch the sides of what's going on in Ukraine, bulldozing bits of the White House to make way for a huge/vulgar ballroom (compensating much?), not sending anyone of any status or significance to COP 30, doing anything to divert attention from the Epstein files, pardoning people he doesn't even know, expressing interest in somehow running for a third term, presiding over the longest shutdown in US political history, finally promising to release those Epstein files and then not, and so much more besides... he's ended the year by going after the BBC and giving himself a sports day peace prize medal at the World Cup draw. That's a sequence of words I never conceived would be necessary or even feasible to write. What a desperate, sad, insecure, delusional little man he is ... and/or a colossal orange prick.

I hope that was worth it but know, deep down, that it wasn't. Reader: how was 2025 for you?

Tiny houses, here and there

Back in 2018, I edited a short story collection entitled The Petrified World and other stories. It's here if you're interested. Rol's in it too. You'd like it, I think, the book. It's very reasonably priced, any profit goes to charity, all of that. Take a punt, why not?

But anyway, pitch over, back to the point. As I cycled to work this morning along car-choked roads, through yet another spiralling housing estate of identikit rabbit hutches, today's song sprung readily to mind. As did this quote from Sir David Attenborough, that I included in the introduction of the aforementioned book:

All environmental problems become harder - and ultimately impossible - to solve with ever more people.

Sorry. Downer, I know, but no less true for that. Here's the song, and an appropriately claustrophobic video shot in a rehearsal room, from Blur's Indian summer of 2015.

There are too many of us
That's plain to see
We all believe in praying
For our immortality
We've posed these questions to our children
That calls them all to stray
And live in tiny houses
Of the same mistakes we made

'Cause there are too many of us
In tiny houses here and there
Passing out of somewhere
But you won't care

There are too many of us
That's plain to see
And we all believe in praying
For our own immortality
For a moment, I was dislocated
My terror on a loop elsewhere
The flashing lights part vacated
On the big screens everywhere

'Cause there are too many of us
In tiny houses here and there
Just passing out of somewhere
But you won't care

There are too many of us
In tiny houses here and there
All looking through the windows
On everything we share
We pose these questions to our children
It leads them all to stray
And live in tiny houses
Of the same mistakes we make

'Cause there are too many of us
Oh, that's plain to see
All living in tiny houses (passing out of somewhere)
Of our own mortality (but you won't care)

What you like, not what you are like

It's an unbelievable 25 years since the cinema release of High Fidelity.

Directed by Stephen Frears and starring John Cusack as Rob, it remains an object lesson in how to adapt and change a successful book into an equally successful film. Nick Hornby didn't have a problem with the story relocating to Chicago, after all, so why should we? And it has a brilliant soundtrack (as a film set around a record shop should) and quotable dialogue (example left) by the mile.

Most of all, the film endures so well because of how it speaks to Generation X men. No, not Billy Idol. Blokes like you and me, born between 1965 and 1980 (Wikipedia confidently asserts), blokes now properly into their fifties, getting on a bit yet still waiting for that moment when they figure it out... it being life. Life is complicated. In the film, Rob excruciatingly re-examines his romantic history, trying to understand what went right and (mostly) wrong. No spoilers (not that you haven't seen it already) but he mostly works it all out, with a little help. Of course it is a fiction - if only real life were that simple.

Maybe it's because of that complexity that the quote on the left resonates - people are complicated but you can tell a lot from a person's likes and dislikes - the books, records and films that float their boat. That is why these things matter, at least to our generation. I wonder if the same will be true for Generation Z and later, now that books are electronic, records are all played through a phone's tinny, tiny speakers one track at a time ("What's an album?") and your choice of films is dictated by which streaming service you sign up to. But for us - for me - these things still matter.

You'll note, of course, that I haven't included Rob's next line of dialogue in the screenshot, in which he admits this assertion is "fucking shallow".

Anyway, we never get to find out, in the film, what Rob's Top 5 records are, though there is a clue: in his apartment, he has these records on the wall, hung in frames:

• Maggot Brain by Funkadelic
• Tonight's the Night by Neil Young
• Wild Honey by The Beach Boys
• Goo by Sonic Youth
• Double Nickels on the Dime by Minutemen

I don't know whose choices these were - Frears', Cusack's, Hornby's... some set designer's. Who knows? But it's an excuse for some songs, and hence a blog post - see what you think. High Fidelity is having a limited cinematic re-release to celebrate its birthday; why not go along? I think I might.

And the impossible question: what's your Top 5?

Public service book announcement

No, this is not an April Fool.

Slade House by David Mitchell (not that one, the other one) is currently only 99p if you have a Kindle or the Kindle app, but only for a limited time. It's bloody brilliant, you should definitely read it. It was my book of the year in 2016, when I lauded its "seductive prose and remorseless sense of the uncanny". So there.

And no, it's nothing to do with Noddy and Dave (or Cup-a-Soups).

Was That The Year That Was? 2024

Disclaimer: this post was written in December 2023, and scheduled for future posting. Its contents may no longer be accurate or appropriate.

This would normally be the fourteenth time I've recapped a year like this (for completists, here are the others) ... but here's the thing. As you'll remember from this, I've been on a blogging sabbatical, and every post you've read here in 2024 was actually written and scheduled during December of last year. So how can I recap the year, twelve months in advance?

Well, I can't, obviously. Instead, as 2023 draws to a close (This might get confusing - Ed.), I'm going to write about the things I'm maybe looking forward to for 2024 and then, when this actually gets published in twelve months time, maybe I'll drop into my own comments section and update with how reality compared with hope. Because there's always hope, right? Even for this desperate blog...

So enough prevarication - let's get the crystal ball out.

Best album?

Well, if the advance singles are anything to go by (especially Night of the Hunter), then the forthcoming Libertines album All Quiet On The Eastern Esplanade might be alright, and certainly better than the health of its chief protagonists might have led us to hope. What else? Well, by the law of averages Paul Weller will probably have a new album at some point in the year, that I will inevitably buy and find something to like on. And this is in hope rather than expectation but I wouldn't mind another solo album from Graham Coxon, but I might be pissing in the wind on that score. Who knows?

Best song?

This looking forward lark is hard. Most of the new songs that have featured on this blog in recent years have been serendipitous finds, and how do you predict that? So I'm going to take an absolute punt and say that my best song of 2024 will be something I haven't heard even a snippet of yet, by some band that is completely new to me, and will probably be on Bandcamp. I know, brilliant insight, eh? Bet you're glad to be reading this...

Best gig?

Well, this might be a little easier to look forward to, because I've already started booking tickets and planning trips. For example, I already know that I will be seeing The Smyths and From The Jam, and I can confidently state that I will enjoy both very much. I hope to see Sea Power too, touring the anniversary of Do You Like Rock Music? (which is on the Every Home Should Have One masterlist, lest we forget), although the nearest they come to me is on Valentine's day, so that might prove challenging, let's say. There's a chance I may also get to the Suede and Manics double-header tour, which is bound to be something, plus I note Pixies are touring briefly, playing Bossanova and Trompe le Monde in full. Plus hopefully there will also be some festival action, either Latitude (with Duran Duran headlining one day, no less) or CarFest. So there's lots of potential here, basically. More good gigs to go to than I can realistically afford. And I haven't even mentioned the annual pilgrimage to see The Wedding Present, which is bound to happen at some point...

Best book?

Another one that's hard to predict. I know that Stephen King has a new collection of short stories coming out in May, because I've already pre-ordered You Like It Darker. And I already know that I will like most if not all of it, because I always do - even when he's not firing on all cylinders King keeps the pages turning like few other authors do for me. I'd also love it if there was also something new from the simply wonderful Sadie Jones and the criminally underrated Michelle Paver, because I love their respective bodies of work. It might be a bit soon after Amy & Lan for Sadie, but there hasn't been any new adult fiction from Michelle since Wakenhyrst, so fingers crossed there...

Best film?

I'm going to cheat a bit here because Wonka has just come out at the time of writing, but I haven't seen it yet. Based on trailers and the fact that the team behind it gave us the Paddington movies, I'm not really going out on much of a limb here when I predict it will be quite good. But what else? Well, novelist-turned-director Alex Garland's new film Civil War looks interesting (and hopefully not prescient), and stuntman-turned-director David Leitch is bringing The Fall Guy to the big screen, hopefully without dumping on our childhood memories (I'd like a Lee Majors cameo please, David). Amy Winehouse biopic Back to Black will either be terrible or excellent, as will Beverley Hills Cop: Axel F (yes, really). Actually, 2024 looks like being the peak year of sequels, most of which, on paper, leave you scratching your head and wondering "why?" and "please don't be terrible", to whit: Kingdom of the Planet of the Apes, Beetlejuice 2 (only 30 years too late), Joker: Folie a Deux, Gladiator 2 (yep, really), and an as yet untitled Alien franchise movie. Leave the horse alone, why don't you, it's dead already... And director Richard Eggers is remaking Nosferatu for 2024 ... really, what could go wrong? Oh, and spoiler alert from December 2023 - I don't actually get to the cinema very much any more, so I probably won't even see half of these. Boo.

Best television?

Well, I'm going to need something new to fill the holes in my televisual life left by Ghosts and, since I've just given up my Disney+ subscription because of ridiculous price hikes, Only Murders In The Building. I don't yet know what that something will be. The final series of Stranger Things is coming, and had better arrive in 2024, else the young cast will all be too grown to pass for teenagers. The second series of Wednesday is coming too - so far, so Netflix. In the interests of balance, apparently Blade Runner 2099 is coming to the small screen courtesy of Amazon Prime, with Ridley Scott involved, so hopefully that will be good. Oh, and there's a live action version of Avatar: The Last Airbender coming too (Netflix again) that will be a must-watch for Amusements Minor (and, by extension, me), so hopefully that is better than the famously awful film adaptation from 2010. On terrestrial TV (do people still say that?), the BBC brings us series two of The Tourist, which I plan to watch, and the intriguing premise of Nightsleeper, a six-part real-time thriller set on a sleeper train from Glasgow to London. I have high hopes for that.

Best sport?

Well, I'm going to go out on another limb here and predict that the best sport of the year will also, in a way, be the worst, as England threaten to win the Euros but ultimately fall agonisingly short, probably on penalties. Staying with football, I'm hoping for a Liverpool title in the Premier League, but won't mind if it's Arsenal, not least because my old man's a Gooner. Moving down the pyramid, I'm also hoping that Norwich City will somehow (and despite themselves) sneak into the play-offs, but if so they'll undoubtedly revert to form and miss out, whilst watching their noisy neighbours from down the road get promoted as champions. Sigh. In other sport, I hope that Ronnie O'Sullivan prevails at the snooker world championships in May, to stand alone on eight titles in the modern era. And I'm praying for some kind of comeback from Emma Raducanu - such talent, such promise, hopefully to re-emerge in 2024. And of course it's an Olympic year, so I'm hoping that Katarina Johnson-Thompson scoops the heptathlon gold her career so richly deserves. Oh, and is one more title for Lewis Hamilton too much to ask? Probably, but it doesn't hurt to hope.

Person of the year?

Well, it's Keir Starmer, hopefully. Since the next general election must take place on or before the 28th of January 2025 at the very latest, I really need Keir to have a good year, because we need the Tories out more than ever. I know Starmer is not perfect, occasionally misses open goals, and perhaps lacks some charisma ... but I also think he is, at a fundamental level, a decent man, and that's what we need right now. So here's to a year of no gaffes, no own goals and no scandal, a year of side-stepping the offensives the right-wing press will inevitably launch against him, a year of Labour by-election victories and Conservative implosion, and a year that ultimately culminates in a landslide electoral triumph, with a compassionate party of the people back in government, where they remain for a generation. Fingers crossed. Meanwhile, internationally, I'm also desperately hoping Joe Biden has a good year because otherwise...

Tool of the year?

As I type this post, at the tail-end of 2023, I have an awful and inescapable fear that repugnant man-child and morality-vacuum Orange Don will somehow evade all attempts to rein him in, whether in the courts or in the Republican party, and that not only will he contest the 2024 presidential election as a free man but that he will also win it. It chills my heart to think of him back in power, but I can see it happening, I really can. I just pray that in the twelve months that elapse between me writing this and you reading it, something legal, conclusive and incontrovertilbe happens to prevent him: either he is convicted of something, or the Republican party realise they don't have to remain in his thrall, or the Democrats find a way to beat him, or the US electorate come to their senses. I can't think of too many things more dangerous for the world than a stupid, immoral, entitled person with ultimate power but little accountability and even less care. It is a hideous, but very real, prospect for us all.

Well, that's the future foretold. Hardly a cheery note to end on, but really, what else did you expect from me? I wonder what you'll make of all this in December '24? Blimey, I wonder what I'll even make of it...

Happiness remains elusive

Disclaimer: this post was written in December 2023, and scheduled for future posting. Its contents may no longer be accurate or appropriate.

Way back in 2013, when I was clearly short of things to blog about, I wrote twice (here and here) about Alex Quick's book 102 Free Things To Do - inspiring ideas for a better life and how I intended to try the suggestions therein to see if life did indeed get better. At the last update, in December 2017, I identified 43 that I had done (green), three that I would never do (red)...and the other 56 were up for grabs. Anyway, here's an update, as at December 2023 - newly done are bold (with explanatory notes in italics):

Go out and look at the stars Keep a diary - but only one sentence a day Meter your energy use with a smart meter (but I quickly got bored of doing so) Give up your car Get up earlier Sketch your relatives - it's better than photos Treasure your precious human body Go on an archeological dig Write a letter to your future self Don't confuse affluence with well-being Memorise a poem Ask a child for advice Take part in a police line-up Give up craving for recognition (and be admired for it) Notice when things have improved Go on holiday without leaving your bedroom Practice random acts of kindness (and, if time permits, senseless acts of beauty) Climb a mountain Turn your house into a restaurant Start a film society Remember that making mistakes is part of being human See the sun rise and set on a single summer's day Get fit without joining a gym (I got in great shape for LEJOG in 2021 ... but am currently back in awful shape) Sit still until you see wildlife emerge Contact a friend you haven't spoken to for years Go cloud-spotting Learn to meditate Volunteer for something Spend a day and night in a forest Cherish older people Reconsider your career Enlarge your comfort zone Achieve your ideal weight (as above, this was when training for LEJOG ... am overweight again now) Learn how to talk to strangers in public Visit Project Gutenberg Gather a meal from the wild Learn another language (if Japanese on Duolingo counts) Invent a language Pretend you are a valet for humanity Go busking Start a book in which to record things that have really, really made you laugh Go somewhere outdoors that is very silent Make Christmas presents for your whole family one year Give something up Cheer up lonely men in public places Swap your CDs Adopt or invent a personal motto Support your local eccentric Become a freegan Swim in the sea Get to know your neighbours

Act without expecting anything back Deliver meals on wheels (sort of, and a one-off) Look for glue Send a message in a bottle Have an eco-friendly bonfire Attempt a world record Walk in the rain Give away free trees Do a sponsored parachute/bungee jump (I used to think this was still on the cards, but now accept my stomach for such lunacy has gone) Perform Cycle 100 miles in a day Serenade someone Reflect on something you're grateful for Cook and eat a nine-course meal Write a love letter Create a lair Notice beauty Let go of emotional pain Write down your parents' or grandparents' stories Look at your day-to-day concerns from the point of view of five years from now Fan the flames of desire Contemplate imperfection and impermanence as forms of beauty (after a conversation with a writer friend) Join a gardening scheme where only your labour is required Laugh in the face of death Train your memory Accept the full catastrophe Write the first sentence of a novel Cherish solitude (Sister Wendy does) (realised I always have) Get your friends to sponsor you to go to Spain and celebrate La Tomatina Embarrass your children/teenagers (sadly and more frequently) Work a room Confront people politely Learn a trick Be a representative of your country, in your country Try lucid dreaming Come to terms with ageing Be a bookcrosser Teach a child something fun Make your gratitude less perfunctory Give away your superfluous possessions Grow huge sunflowers Smile Go bell-ringing Form a debating club Take your shoes off and walk in the dew on a sunny morning Dress up Give up your TV Be 'Lord' for a day Write fewer emails and more letters Don't expect that things will be different in Tenerife Find out what's happening near you and join in

So, now 51 done, halfway there... but also back up to four nevers. So am I happier?

No, of course not. I'm still the same cantankerous, miserable old sod I've always been. Important to remember, though, that not being happier isn't the same as being sadder, or even sad. Though of course I am that too, at times. Who knows, by the time this post goes live in May, perhaps I'll have ticked off a few more on the list and reached nirvana ... but don't hold your breath.

Meanwhile ... are you happy? What makes that so? Maybe I'll build your answers into my own, real-world "how to be happier" list some time. Until then, here's the obvious brilliant song from the much-missed Mark Hollis and Talk Talk:

That Was The Year That Was: 2023

This is the thirteenth time I've recapped a year like this (for completists, here are the others); I nearly didn't bother, on the grounds that I consume so little new material, and no-one cares about my opinion. So I was going to give it a swerve...

...but then had an attackers of blogger's guilt. So here we are ... if "here" is realising that what I "consume" these days is, more than ever, driven by my notional roles of father and partner than by my own individual, personal taste. Especially what I watch, as will become apparent.

Aside from updating twelfth to thirteenth, those opening paragraphs are an exact copy'n'paste of last year's post. Which probably tells you all you need to know about my enthusiasm for this end of year recap. Basically, I have had very few highlights in my cultural life this year, so what to write? But enough prevarication; let's crack on with this load of old balls and see how little new stuff I've tried this year (and that line is also lifted from last year).

Best album

Turns out I've bought very few original albums this year. Lots of compilations, best ofs and retrospectives, but not many of all new material. Consequently Ballad of Darren by Blur wins almost by default, whereas it perhaps wouldn't have won in other years. Don't get me wrong, it is good, borderline great. But it probably isn't essential. If I was Q magazine (remember that?) it would garner a four star review, not five. That said, it does reward repeated listens, and is definitely worth your time, as long as you're not still expecting Popscene.

Best song

I've got a bit more to say here, at least. What about Bending Hectic by The Smile for starters? Then there's The Last Rotation of Earth by BC Camplight, which has been living rent-free in my head since I heard it, and I absolutely love the brilliance of Expert in a Dying Field by The Beths. In other years The Beths would have prevailed, but this year saw Dublin's Fontaines DC cover Nick Drake's Cello Song, and I'm not sure a new song has hit me more so far this decade. I called it as early as March, and this remains my song of a year. A worthy winner - play it loud!

Best gig

It's been another quiet year, gig-wise. There have been the usual suspects, of course: The Wedding Present (for the last time with Mel on bass), From The Jam (with excellent company from my oldest friends), The Smyths (as close as you're going to get without a time machine) - all reliably excellent, of course. Sleeper nearly stole in and took the crown this year, for their wonderful intimate acoustic gig at the Arts Centre, though I accept my judgement may be coloured by still being smitten with Louise (obligatory sigh) after all these years. But it's a tie between Pulp, who were simply brilliant at Latitude (and, crucially, shared with the rest of the Amusements clan) and Suede, who were far better than anyone has any right to expect after thirty years. So yes, another bunch of old people from my youth, basically.

Best book

I've read a few books this year, but not many of them are new for 2023. In fact, I think crime procedural Holly by Stephen King is the only book published this year that I've read so far. So that ought to win but it won't, good though it was. I also got a surprising amount out of Before & Laughter by Jimmy Carr; I'm not his biggest fan but there are genuine nuggets of life advice to he had here, delivered in an accessible and funny manner. However, the nod this year must go to The Ministry for the Future by Kim Stanley Robinson, even though the subject matter - climate catastrophe - meant that I had to read it in small doses, over the course of a year, for my own mental health. The first chapter in particular hits as hard as any opening I think I've ever read.

Best film

I am once more somewhat embarrassed by the paucity of new films I've been to see this year, partly because Amusements Minor is now at an age when he wants to go to the cinema with his mates instead of me. That said, I very much enjoyed Spielberg autobiog The Fabelmans at the start of the year. Barbie pleasantly surprised me, and I got a lot out of Oppenheimer too. However, the best film I've sat amongst spilled popcorn for this year, by a short nose from Señor Spielbergo and Oppenheimer, is Justine Triet's Anatomy of a Fall. I don't know if it's that foreign language films make you work harder, and therefore appreciate what you get out of them more, or whether this really is a great film but, whatever, it kept me very focused for all of its two and a half hours, plus stimluated plenty of discussion with Mrs Amusements afterwards.

Best television

Even if not up to the dazzling standards of earlier series, Ghosts has continued to be a joy - there's a Christmas Day finale coming too, so get your Button House fix whilst you still can, would be my advice. In terms of documentaries, Louis Theroux's recent BBC1 interview with Pete Doherty was a captivating watch, for fans of both, and the Ronnie O'Sullivan behind-the-scenes film The Edge of Everything on Amazon Prime was a real eye-opener - I defy anyone not to be moved at the end at Ronnie's emotion. Definitely worth a watch. However, my TV choice this year is Only Murders In The Building on Disney+; no other show has given me as much satisfaction and all manner of laughs, from knowing "that's clever" chuckles to tea-spurting laugh out loud roars. Steve Martin is as good as he has ever been, his chemistry with Martin Short elevates their every shared scene, and Selena Gomez is a revelation. Very highly recommended indeed.

Best sport

In a year that has been pretty mundane in terms of sport, it is hard to look beyond the superbly victorious European Ryder Cup team, but I'm going to because once more the Lionesses gave us all something to get excited about; yes, they fell at the final hurdle against Spain, but that was still as close as England have come to winning a World Cup in my lifetime. And sure, they've just missed out on Nations League qualification by the most heartbreaking of slender margins, but let's not forget they did beat Brazil to win the Finalissima at the start of the year too. Aside from that, I must also mention Katie Boulter, who was next level at the recent Billie Jean Cup qualifier against Sweden and continues to look our best hope on court, at least until Emma Raducanu can get herself back on track.

Person of the year

Well, it's Chris Packham, obviously. Quite apart from his televisual impact on the natural world, through Springwatch, Autumnwatch and this year's outstanding five-parter Earth, he also gave us the illuminating documentary Inside Our Autistic Minds, asked difficult questions in Is It Time To Break The Law? and even found time to pop up on Celebrity Gogglebox for Stand Up To Cancer, alongside his step-daughter Megan McCubbin. And all the while, he was fighting an exhaustive and intrusive legal battle against Country Squire Magazine for defamation - he stood up to be counted on this, and won, at some personal if not financial cost. That he continues to be a publicly active activist, despite arson attacks on his property and having dead badgers nailed to his front gate, tells you all you need to know about the man. The natural heir to Attenborough, and there's no higher praise than that in my book.

Tool of the year

I need a bigger toolbox ... although most of last year's candidates are still here. Johnson, Sunak, Patel, Braverman ("As thick as pig-shit, basically" - Mark Watson), Rees-Mogg, Shapps, Hancock, Dorries, Cleverly (a new entry, and proof of all the flaws in nominative determinism). We need shot of them all from public life, from public service, because they do us all a dis-service, to say the least. Further afield? Man-child Putin, throwing missiles and young Russians onto the bonfire of his own vanity, the seemingly inevitable comeback from Trump, the dollar-enabled kid-in-a-candy-store that is Elon Musk, the batrachoidal puddle of bigotry that is Farage and all those who conspire to keep him in the news, the perma-tanned barrel-scraping and down-dumbed miasma of reality television, those who are famous for being famous, anyone who applauds themselves on television, oh Jesus, I could go on. I'm not going to pick one person... I'm just begging, hoping beyond hope that 2024 is better. 2023 hasn't been, to the extent that, aside from a few tweaks and updates, I have basically just copied and pasted this paragraph from last year.

Well, blogger's guilt, I hope that was worth it. But reader ... how was it for you?

Nothing like the sun (or more about AI)

What do these four have in common? Nothing, other than all appearing in this post.

As you'll know from my last post, I've been playing with ChatGPT, the better-than-you-might-expect AI chatbot that Microsoft are getting behind (I'm on the waiting list to try Google's Bard AI).

Since yesterday was World Poetry Day, I asked ChatGPT if it could write a sonnet about French actress Estelle Skornik. And if you're thinking that names rings a vague bell, she was briefly famous in the 90s for playing Nicole in those Renault Clio ads. Anyway, here's what the bot wrote, literally in a couple of seconds:

Fair Estelle, with eyes so bright and bold,
A beauty that inspires both awe and grace,
Your presence on the screen is a sight to behold,
A talent that few can ever hope to trace.

With every line you speak, your voice doth flow,
Like honey, sweet and rich and full of life,
Your passion for your craft doth clearly show,
And stirs within us all a yearning strife.

Your beauty, like a rose in full bloom,
Shimmers with a radiance that cannot be ignored,
And captivates us all in its sweet perfume,
A sight that we shall always adore.

So here's to you, Estelle, with love and admiration,
May your star forever shine with such brilliance and dedication.

So what do we think? I mean, yes, technically it is a sonnet - fourteen lines, rhyming, expressing romantic love or infatuation - and it is about Estelle (an Estelle at least, rather than necessarily Mlle Skornik) ... but it's awful, isn't it? I mean, I'm no expert but this feels like the kind of "moon, June and coffee spoons" rhyming that you'd find in a greetings card, or at best something Thomas from Ghosts would write. But is it any better or worse than arguably the most famous sonnet in the English language?

My mistress' eyes are nothing like the sun;
Coral is far more red than her lips' red;
If snow be white, why then her breasts are dun;
If hairs be wires, black wires grow on her head.

I have seen roses damasked, red and white,
But no such roses see I in her cheeks;
And in some perfumes is there more delight
Than in the breath that from my mistress reeks.

I love to hear her speak, yet well I know
That music hath a far more pleasing sound;
I grant I never saw a goddess go;
My mistress, when she walks, treads on the ground.

And yet, by heaven, I think my love as rare
As any she belied with false compare.

Yeah, that's better, isn't it? That Shakespeare bloke was alright, wasn't he?

The thing is, though, this AI lark: it's in the kindergarten right now. Think how quickly we went from the Wright brothers to Apollo XI. Think how quickly we went from a Nokia 3310 to the iPhone. Now think how quickly AI will go from Hallmark poetry to Shakespeare...

From one Bill to another. Bill Gates is in the news today, suggesting that AI is the most important tech advance in decades. For what my opinion is worth (nought), I think he's right. And whilst Gates cautions that governments should work with his industry to "limit the risks" of AI, he is broadly optimistic about the benefits of this new tech. I worry more though. For every positive application (research, medicine) I see more negatives: you think algorithms are bad now, just wait 'til some commercial AI thinks it knows you better than you know yourself. And worse than the monetisation will be the militarisation. Gah.

Let's end with a song. The aforementioned Sonnet 130 gave this post its title, but also gave Sting a line for a song and the title for an album in 1987. Now Sting irks a lot of people, almost as much as Bono, but he's done some good stuff, and I'm not just talking about his time in the Rozzers. Anyway, to prove that I don't have a hip bone in my body, other than my pelvis, here's an excellent version of that song, Sister Moon, by Gordon Sumner and his jazzy mates. Until such time as AI can play the drums with the intense joy and precision of Billy Kilson in this, maybe we can rest easy.

That Was The Year That Was: 2022

This is the twelfth time I've recapped a year like this (for completists, here are the others); I nearly didn't bother, on the grounds that I consume so little new material, and no-one cares about my opinion. So I was going to give it a swerve...

...but then had an attackers of blogger's guilt. So here we are ... if "here" is realising that what I "consume" these days is, more than ever, driven by my notional roles of father and partner than by my own individual, personal taste. Especially what I watch, as will become apparent.

But enough prevarication; let's crack on with this load of old balls and see how little new stuff I've tried this year.

Best album

When I wrote about Autofiction by Suede earlier in the year I described it as "a faster, heavier sound than most of the output from their Indian summer" and that it "might just be their best Bernard-less album". I stand by all that; here's a band, 30+ years after they started and with no small amount of drama in their history, still sounding exciting, still sounding like they're trying. Highly recommended and my album of the year. Honourable mentions: Johnny Marr for Fever Dreams Pts 1-4; The Smile for A Light For Attracting Attention.

Best song

I though Suede were going to have this stitched up too, with the excellent She Still Leads Me On but no, the nod goes to Graham Coxon's new project Waeve, for the sheer brilliance and audacious ear-wormery that is Something Pretty - once heard, never forgotten. Reformation nostalgia enormo-gigs might be his pension plan, but he's still the most interesting quarter of Blur.

Best gig

It's been a quiet year, gig-wise. So, excellent (in very different ways) though Crowded House and Half Man Half Biscuit were, this is a toss-up between two old men: Paul Weller at the local uni, early in the year, and Morrissey, in Brighton, as autumn got up and running. There's nothing in it, they were both excellent. I ought to give Paul the nod, it's the socially acceptable answer, but I'm going for SPM, the deciding factor being that I had The Man Of Cheese for company in Brighton, and a gig shared is almost always better than a lone gig.

Best book

I've read a few books this year, but not many of them are new for 2022. In fact, I think Fairy Tale by Stephen King is the only book published this year that I've read so far. So that ought to win, but it won't. The best book I've read this year, by some distance, is Fallout by Sadie Jones; I summarised it at the time as a "supremely well-written tale of love, lust, lies and liaisons, set against a beautifully-realised evocation of early 70s theatreland," and if that doesn't whet your appetite, nothing will. Jones also has a new book out, Amy & Lan, that I haven't read yet but already predict will be in the running for this accolade, if you can call it that, next year. Oh, and I should also give a mention to Headhunters by Jo Nesbo, as that would have got the nod if not for Sadie.

Best film

I am somewhat embarrassed by the paucity of films I've been to see this year. Indeed, most of the films I've seen have been for the benefit of Amusements Minor. So whilst I'm sure there have been plenty of good films out there, the pick of what I've seen in 2022 is Spiderman: No Way Home, which is an indecent amount of fun and even managed to prise some grudging admiration for Tobey Maguire's Peter from the boy. I should also give honourable mentions to Netflix's Don't Look Up, the biting climate-change analogy that everyone should watch, and, for sheer ludicrous spectacle, Top Gun: Maverick. Blimey: remember when I used to watch real films?

Best television

Even if not up to the dazzling standards of earlier series, Ghosts has continued to be a joy - there's a Christmas Day special coming too, if you're interested. And I've watched the Alex Rider series on Amazon Prime's annoyingly-named Freevee channel, and that has been a hoot, real whole-family-watching-together television (decent theme song too). But other that that it's been a slow year for TV, at Amusements Towers, at least. I'll edit this later if I suddenly remember something but at the moment I can't think of a standout highlight. Sorry!

Best sport

Easy to forget, in the aftermath of Qatar and the inevitable disappointment of losing as soon as we come up against a top-tier team, that actually England won a major football trophy this year. And were quite brilliant doing it, so much so that the Lionesses scooping the Euros is my sporting highlight of the year, not just for the achievement but hopefully for the permanent change they have triggered in football in this country. I'll give an honourable mention to my individual sports personality of the year too, pro cyclist Imogen Cotter, who suffered a potentially career-ending (life-ending!) injury in training at the start of the year and has been nothing short of inspirational fighting back from it ever since. Just, wow.

Person of the year

For a long time, it looked like money-saving expert Martin Lewis had this in the bag, championing the poor of the nation and speaking truth to power too. It seems impossible for me to fathom that so many are so poor, struggling so badly, in what is still the fifth or sixth largest economy in the world. But we are where we are. So well done, Martin, your efforts have helped so many. But my person of the year is Paul McCartney, headlining Glastonbury at 80 years of age, and doing an excellent job of it. He's basically a very few years younger than my old man who, on occasion, struggles a bit to headline the armchair. So well done Paul - I hope you tour at least once more, so I can finally see you live.

Tool of the year

I need a bigger toolbox ... where shall we start? Johnson, Truss, Kwarteng, Sunak, Patel, Braverman, Rees-Mogg, Shapps, Hancock, Dorries. We need shot of them all from public life, from public service, because they do us all a dis-service, to say the least. Further afield? Man-child Putin, throwing missiles and young Russians onto the bonfire of his own vanity, a possible comeback from Trump, the dollar-enabled kid-in-a-candy-store that is Elon Musk, the Oscars implosion of Will Smith, the angsty proclamations of minor royals enjoying major privilege, the perma-tanned barrel-scraping and down-dumbed miasma of reality television, those who are famous for being famous, anyone who applauds themselves on television, oh Jesus, I could go on. I'm not going to pick one person... I'm just begging, hoping beyond hope that 2023 is better.

Well, blogger's guilt, I hope that was worth it. But reader ... how was it for you?

Twenty-two in '22: Fairy Tale

I've set myself modest reading targets in each of the last three years and failed every time (I managed 17 books in '19, 11 in '20 and 18 in '21), so I'm determined to read twenty two books in 2022. I'll review them all here.

12/22: Fairy Tale by Stephen King

The blurb: Charlie Reade looks like a regular high school kid, great at baseball and football, a decent student. But he carries a heavy load. His mom was killed in a hit-and-run accident when he was seven, and grief drove his dad to drink. Charlie learned how to take care of himself - and his dad. Then, when Charlie is seventeen, he meets a dog named Radar and her ageing master, Howard Bowditch, a recluse in a big house at the top of a big hill, with a locked shed in the backyard. Sometimes strange sounds emerge from it.

Charlie starts doing jobs for Mr. Bowditch and loses his heart to Radar. Then, when Bowditch dies, he leaves Charlie a cassette tape telling a story no one would believe. What Bowditch knows, and has kept secret all his long life, is that inside the shed is a portal to another world.

King's storytelling in Fairy Tale soars. This is a magnificent and terrifying tale about another world than ours, in which good is pitted against overwhelming evil, and a heroic boy - and his dog - must lead the battle.

The review: The dedication at the start of this book reads "Thinking of REH, ERB, and, of course, HPL" and that tells you all you really need to know about what follows. For this is King's homage to the books he consumed in his youth, and the writing of Robert E. Howard, Edgar Rice Burroughs and especially H.P. Lovecraft. Indeed, you could say that Fairy Tale is King's take on Lovecraft's The Call of Cthulhu. Of course, King being King there are plenty of other fictional touchstones woven in too, from conventional fairytales like Rumpelstiltskin and The Three Little Pigs, to more recent fairytale allegories like Star Wars and The Hunger Games. He even throws in a subtle reference to his own Dark Tower series, for the Constant Readers among us to spot.

Also, King being King, the author has great fun with the fact that all the best fairytales have gruesome aspects. And we know he can do gruesome!

Anyway, I'd better write a review, hadn't I? This is King's umpteenth book, and he's racked up a pajillion sales, so he can write, we all know that. This is no exception: it's an enjoyable page-turner, that I rattled through quicker than anything I've read since ... well, since the last King novel I read. It won't win him many new fans but if you already like his work, you'll like this too. And that ought to be the end of the review, hadn't it? Well, it is, really, except for one observation. Like many of King's novels, Billy Summers being the most recent obvious comparator, this book pivots on a single moment about 30% of the way in; it's in the blurb, so there's no spoiler in me saying that moment is the point at which our hero Charlie goes through the portal in Howard's shed into another world. The world of make-believe, if you like - the land of fairytales. And the simple opinion I want to offer here is that, although the whole book is good, I preferred the section before that pivot, with Charlie rooted in normality, dealing with familial issues, high school issues, helping an old neighbour. It's got to the point, I think, where King is just a better prose fiction novelist than he is a horror/fantasy/supernatural writer. There. I said it. Don't @ me, as the influencers of the world might still say. But do comment, below.

The bottom line: King's take on a modern, yet traditional, fairytale, bears all his hallmarks, whilst also being an homage to those that came before him. Fans will lap it up - I did.

Since everything online is rated these days: ★★★★★☆

Twenty-two in '22: Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North

I've set myself modest reading targets in each of the last three years and failed every time (I managed 17 books in '19, 11 in '20 and 18 in '21), so I'm determined to read twenty two books in 2022. I'll review them all here.

11/22: Pies and Prejudice: In Search of the North by Stuart Maconie

The blurb: A Northerner in exile, Stuart Maconie goes on a journey in search of the North, attempting to discover where the clichés end and the truth begins. He travels from Wigan Pier to Blackpool Tower and Newcastle's Bigg Market to the Lake District to find his own Northern Soul, encountering along the way an exotic cast of chippy Scousers, pie-eating woollybacks, topless Geordies, mad-for-it Mancs, Yorkshire nationalists and brothers in southern exile.

The bestselling Pies and Prejudice is a hugely enjoyable journey around the north of England.

The review: Of all the many books I've read in recent years, one I've felt most connected to is The Nanny State Made Me, Maconie's paean to the public sector - I wrote about it last year. Add to that Maconie's relaxed, conversational style and my predisposition towards him based on his 6 Music output, and I was ready to enjoy this book. And I did ... just not as much as I had hoped and expected. Let me explain why.

All the Maconie staples are here - the aforementioned conversational tone, the anecdotes, the great dollops of nostalgic recollection and the occasional light dusting of political opinion. And the subject matter - essentially an Englishman abroad, if abroad means everywhere north of the Watford Gap (which, as it turns out, is not where you might think) - is a rich vein for Maconie to mine. The book is successful on many levels, mostly making me want to visit places I haven't been and love places I already love even more. And isn't that the primary aim of this kind of book. Oh, and I even learnt stuff too, always a bonus.

So what's the problem?

Well, it's this. At times Pies and Prejudice feels like a history book. It was only written in 2006 but, given the many social and political upheavals there have been since then, it feels like not just the North but the UK of then was a different country. A better country, for that matter. And this feeling increasingly coloured my enjoyment of the book. That's not Maconie's fault, of course - he couldn't have foreseen the spectacular nosedive pretty much everything in the UK has taken since then, no-one could. But it is a fact for a reader in 2022 - this reader, at least. At one point, Maconie quotes an article a certain B. Johnson wrote in The Spectator, and dismisses it as damaging, inflammatory and ultimately ignorant fluff written by an entitled Southern buffoon. All of which is true, of course, but it made me grind my teeth to read it; I had to set the book aside for a bit, and wonder how we had let things come to this. Where did it all go wrong?

I'm conscious this isn't much of a review, so I will add that Maconie's prose keeps the pages turning, the subject matter is genuinely interesting, and it's all told in an engaging, often humourous style. It's just that it made me think it should be subtitled "In Search of Albion" instead.

The bottom line: another well-pitched domestic travelogue from Maconie, but feels like a historical document now.

Since everything online is rated these days: ★★★★☆☆

Twenty-two in '22: Ramble Book

I've set myself modest reading targets in each of the last three years and failed every time (I managed 17 books in '19, 11 in '20 and 18 in '21), so I'm determined to read twenty two books in 2022. I'll review them all here.

10/22: Ramble Book by Adam Buxton

The blurb: The long-awaited, rambling, tender, and very funny memoir from Adam Buxton

Ramble
/ˈramb(ə)l/
Verb

1. walk for pleasure in the countryside.
   'Dr Buckles and Rosie the dog love rambling in the countryside.'
2. talk or write at length in a confused or inconsequential way.
   'Adam rambles on about lots of consequential, compelling and personal matters in his tender, insightful, hilarious and totally unconfused memoir, Ramble Book.'

Ramble Book is about parenthood, boarding school trauma, arguing with your partner, bad parties, confrontations on trains, friendship, wanting to fit in, growing up in the 80s, dead dads, teenage sexual anxiety, failed artistic endeavours, being a David Bowie fan; and how everything you read, watch and listen to as a child forms a part of the adult you become. It’s also a book about the joys of going off topic and letting your mind wander.

The review: I've started a lot of past book reviews by saying that I'm predisposed to liking X or Y because I am a long-time fan of the author and have enjoyed their other work. Well, that's not the case here. It's not that I'm not a fan of Buxton, its just that I haven't really consumed much, if anything, of his previous output - not TV, not podcasts, nothing, save for his Cobbler Bob YouTube video. I don't know how I've got to this point in my life without The Adam and Joe Show, for example - thinking back, I think it struck a chord with people just a couple of years younger than me - and I was very slow to embrace podcasts. Anyway, for whatever reason I was not up to speed on Buxton or anything he's done previously. So why did I feel the need to pick up this book?

Well, on the simplest level it was the tagline: "Musings on childhood, friendship, family and 80s pop culture." Buxton would have been two years above me at school, age-wise, and so I figured his musings on all those things might be close enough to mine to make for an interesting read. And I was right.

Sure, there are plenty of differences between Adam's life and mine that might have made his nostalgic ramblings of less interest: he went to public school, and fixated on Bowie and Star Wars, for starters, all different to me. But he captures the essential experience of growing up in the 70s and 80s very well, and of course that's relatable.

What this book's blurb doesn't make enough of, though, is the family aspect of Buxton's rambles. There are very entertaining diversions into the mechanics of his married life, framed as lists of things he and his wife have argued about. That's relatable too, of course, even if, like me, you're not actually married. But the real heart of this book, beyond detailing the author's reaction to each new Bowie album or the relative merits of The Empire Strikes Back, is Adam's complicated relationship with his father. This is gently explored throughout the book, from recollections of an austere, slightly remote figure in the author's childhood who was, unbeknownst to Buxton at the time, crippling himself financially to educate the kids privately, to the subsequent integration of "BaadDad" into Adam and Joe's TV work, right through to his father moving in with Adam's family in his last months, waiting to die. Its all there, sometimes between the lines, but all there. It's the most affecting aspect of the book.

A note on the format - it's not called Ramble Book for nothing. Buxton breaks his narrative flow at the drop of a hat to go off on tangential rambles, preferring these to be in boxes within the main text rather than in footnotes. That might sound potentially annoying but it works, and lends the book a conversational air.

I can't say this has turned me into an Adam Buxton fan - I don't feel the need to suddenly subscribe to everything he does, or scour YouTube to take in his back catalogue - but I did enjoy this book. I think anyone of a broadly similar age would too, as would anyone who has made the transition from child to parent, and whose own parent is now in the child role. That probably sounds a bit deep, a bit serious for what is a fairly light-hearted, entertaining book... but it's true.

The bottom line: nostalgia-fest for readers of a certain vintage, with some pathos peaking out from between the rambles.

Since everything online is rated these days: ★★★★★☆

Twenty-two in '22: I, Partridge

I've set myself modest reading targets in each of the last three years and failed every time (I managed 17 books in '19, 11 in '20 and 18 in '21), so I'm determined to read twenty two books in 2022. I'll review them all here.

9/22: I, Partridge: We Need to Talk About Alan by Alan Partridge

The blurb:

Journalist, presenter, broadcaster, husband, father, vigorous all-rounder: Alan Partridge. Star of action blockbuster Alpha Papa; a man with a fascinating past and an amazing future.

Gregarious and popular, yet Alan’s never happier than when relaxing in his own five-bedroom, south-built house with three acres of land and access to a private stream. But who is this mysterious enigma?

Alan Gordon Partridge is the best – and best-loved – radio presenter in the region. Born into a changing world of rationing, Teddy Boys, apes in space and the launch of ITV, Alan’s broadcasting career began as chief DJ of Radio Smile at St. Luke’s Hospital in Norwich. After replacing Peter Flint as the presenter of Scout About, he entered the top 8 of BBC sports presenters.

But Alan’s big break came with his primetime BBC chat show Knowing Me, Knowing You. Sadly, the show battled against poor scheduling, having been put up against News at Ten, then in its heyday. Due to declining ratings, a single catastrophic hitch (the killing of a guest on air) and the dumbing down of network TV, Alan’s show was cancelled. Not to be dissuaded, he embraced this opportunity to wind up his production company, leave London and fulfil a lifelong ambition to return to his roots in local radio.

Now single, Alan is an intensely private man but he opens up, for the second time, in this candid, entertaining, often deeply emotional – and of course compelling – memoir, written entirely in his own words. (Alan quickly dispelled the idea of using a ghost writer. With a grade B English Language O-Level, he knew he was up to the task.)

He speaks touchingly about his tragic Toblerone addiction, and the painful moment when unsold copies of his first autobiography, Bouncing Back, were pulped like ‘word porridge’. He reveals all about his relationship with his ex-Ukrainian girlfriend, Sonja, with whom he had sex at least twice a day, and the truth about the thick people who make key decisions at the BBC.

A literary tour de force, I, Partridge: We Need to Talk About Alan charts the incredible journey of one of our greatest broadcasters.

The review: first things first, this isn't actually written by Alan Partridge, what with him being - spoiler alert - a fictional construct. Rather, this has been penned by long-time Partridge writers Neil and Rob Gibbons, with Armando Iannucci and Steve Coogan. So you're in safe hands.

Next, of course, is the fact that this is a parody of a memoir, in the same way that Partridge himself is a parody of ... well, so many failed media types, and latterly/inadvertently Richard Madeley. The book is basically a comedic pastiche of awful celebrity memoirs, the sort that flood the shelves of Waterstone's and W H Smith in the run-up to Christmas. And the writing is good enough that it works on that level, as you would expect from these authors. But - and it's a reasonably sized but - it only really works if the reader is sufficiently well versed in Alan's backstory.

This is because, as you would imagine, Alan is a terrifically unreliable narrator. There is much humour to be had, then, from Alan's self-serving recollections of events with the version of those same events that you are already familiar with from On The Hour, The Day Today, KMKY, I'm Alan Partridge, and so on. The comedy comes, not from the events themselves, but from Alan's after-the-event reinterpretations that, coincidentally always paint him in a good light ... needless to say, in his version Alan nearly always has the last laugh.

Another fine source of humour is delivered by Alan's repeated attempts to show how little certain past events have upset or stayed with him, only for the subtext to reveal otherwise.

I would say it's all here but it isn't: the events of Alpha Papa are not covered (despite what the blurb suggests), and it's not up-to-date enough to cover This Time either. That said, pretty much everything else that has seen Coogan as Partridge, on radio or TV, gets woven neatly into the story; there's a fine line to be trodden here between touching on past output and rehashing too much, so I'm pleased to report that the authors get the balance pretty much bang on throughout.

Of course, riffing on past output is both the book's greatest strength and biggest weakness. Fans will delight in the details, congratulate themselves on picking up references and laugh again as favourite moments from Alan's past get the memoir treatment. However, if you are not a consumer of all things Partridge, well, you're going to struggle a bit, aren't you? For you, it's just made-up nonsense about a made-up person.

The bottom line: a well-constructed and genuinely funny read for existing Partridge aficionados, but understandably unlikely to win over any new fans.

Since everything online is rated these days: ★★★★☆☆