Another wishlist treat from the Cancer Research shop.

"...truly extroadinary story of a childhood remembered through food"

(7/02) Review to follow

Quiet (sic) funny, but with some sadness around Nigel Slater’s family life; I don’t know NS in public life, but he comes across as quite a lonely, introverted kid, confused about his sexuality, and seeking some purpose and direction. All his memories around family deaths, relationships, good and bad times are reflected in anecdotes about food. As the cover blurb says, ‘a childhood remembered through food’. And it is true what he says early on, "It is impossible not to love somebody that makes toast for you."

Not really suitable for pre-teens, cos some of its rude, and if you’re too young to remember Spangles, ice cream in rectangular blocks, space dust, real rice pudding with skin, chocolate cigarettes, fat chips made from potatoes(!) etc. etc. then you’re not even going to be able to indulge in the nostalgia-fest on which the whole thing hangs together. In fact, if you take this glue away, I think you be left with quite a lightweight book.

I’ve read a few of these ultra-honest suburban memoirs recently (Tim Lott, Andrew Collins, Nick Hornby); when did it become acceptable for an ordinary life to be chronicled, and why are they all written by 40-something men who live in the nicer parts of north London, probably. If I’m not careful all the good gimmicks will have gone before I write my best-selling autobiography, working title, "I used to live in a Terraced House and did a Paper Round" ;-)

RELEASE NOTES:

Passed on to a non-BC friend at my book group last night