I read a piece in this month's Word magazine about some of the least successful autobiographies of modern times. I am pleased to report that I own two of them; Bill Oddie's 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' (from a second hand bargain bin so I can be forgiven) and Christopher Biggins' 'Just Biggins' (bought new and signed by the man himself so no excuse whatsover). They are both amazingly bad in their own special way, Oddie's because he doesn't say anything about his early years, glosses over much of the Goodies and then suffers a breakdown midway through the book, and Biggins because well basically he has done little of interest to anyone and may be one of the most pointless people on earth.
However, both of these pale into insignificance alongside Don Estelle's 'Sing Lofty' which may be the absolute nadir of the written word. I'm only half way through the thing but the bland inanities of his life interspersed with insane ranting diatribes against the 'morons' who seem to dog Don's every waking thought are a wondrous thing to a true lover of tat like myself. He moved home more often than Bill Pertwee (a contender for a top/bottom twenty place himself) and his tales of the things his dog got up to would make a paving slab want to take its own life. More when I finish it...
So just wondering, what cringe worthy vanity projects do you have lingering on the bookshelf? I largely buy books from charity shops because I am mean and spiteful and also like buying crap comedy albums, so I am looking forward to the massive haul of unwanted comedy literature given as easy presents that will inevitably await me in the nation's Oxfams and BHF outlets come January.