Something about the cover of this book distracted me from the book section that I intended to purchase my next read. There's a little hellraiser in us all, but in Ollie (Well I think we're friends now after reading this book) there was a lot of a hellraiser and for that reason this book appeals. It begins with reports of his death and then goes on to describe his rise and fall. The rollercoaster ride between the covers takes the wind out of the reader with accounts of his drinking binges, the many occasions when he showed some flesh, including the fast becoming famous 'tattooed member!' his good friends and the hangers on, the houses, the wives, the cars the animals, his son, the escapades, the escapades and the escapades. I became quite tired just reading it all and I was sitting in a comfy armchair with a cup of tea and not the three bottles of Vodka that Ollie could drink in one sitting. But what made me carry on? What made me read to the end when at one point I felt that the book was becoming a little repetitive, not unlike his life? Answer: The sheer admiration for his talent. We hear of a man who said to himself 'I'm going to be an actor', and then went out to teach himself by watching other's act. Not for him the fancy classes at RADA, no he did it his way. Every time people, friends and advisors tried to tell him different he did it his way anyway. Frankie would be proud of him. He made some great films and even when the films were not so great he was great in them. He had something, not just the looks, but what seemed to be a God given ability. I loved the telling of his life, I was fascinated at the number of films he did and the relationships he had and as I closed the book, I didn't feel sad for his early death, his difficult childhood or his broken relationships, I felt privileged to have read a little more about a man who took life by the throat, had a wild time, and checked out before old aged could make him miserable.