An ex of mine once claimed that it should be possible to claim the equivalent of nectar points for converting girls to the worthy cause of lesbianism. These could be cashed in for microwaves, TVs, fridges etc. Ever since, I’ve found myself wondering whether Sue Perkins might not be up to her ears in white goods.
OK that was an aside – never a good place to start a review. But on the other hand, that’s one of the very qualities which makes Perkin’s memoirs ‘Spectacles’ so appealing – wild tangential leaps, narratives which spiral manically from their starting point, a lateral, grasshopper style which links apparently disconnected events in her life, making for a read which hovers on the fringes between laugh-out-loud hilarious and sobering – even at times disturbing.
What I particularly loved about this biography is the way she gives just enough of herself away, without dredging too deep: without this turning into some kind of introspective naval gazing. This is achieved through the same acute, self-deprecating wit which makes her such an attractive, charismatic TV host and presenter. There were times when I laughed so hard I worried for the safety of my internal organs, and times when she addressed some incredibly painful moments head on, saccharine free and with a courageous level of honesty.
If you like her work – and I must admit I’m a big fan – you’ll love this book.