This is a slightly strange autobiography. It is very short on detail and long on short sentences. Bewes, who comes across as a nice fellow, also comes across a bland one, with virtually nothing in the way of opinion. At times it is absolutely maddening when he makes a comment of some significance then fails to expand upon it. This is the case when he makes the two most interesting confessions of the book, that of his shattered relationship with James Bolam and when he missed his mother's funeral. Sometimes you feel he's barely human but this is perhaps more down to the lack of effort taken in writing the book. Bewes gives the appearance of a man who has not exactly triumphed in life - his main success, The Likely Lads, takes up a good chunk of the book. In fact, many pages are lazy reproductions of Clement and Le Frenais scripts. By the 1990s we find Bewes still harping on about it, praying for repeats on television to bring cash in. Very different to Bolam. So this book is, in its way, fascinating, but it's just far too lightweight. You don't really learn any life lessons from it, which you surely should when reading an autobiography.
