This is a strange and at times bewildering story written in an equally strange and bewildering style. Oliver, the eldest of the Bernard 'boys' in attempting to make sense of his complex and unconventional life, depends not just on memory but also on diary entries written at the time. As a result, some parts of the story are conveniently followed by the word 'apparently', implying that it must be true but at the time of writing he has no recall of it happening. The style is almost like a stream of consciousness with people and places flitting in and out of the story whether we need to know about them or not. Perhaps it is that he had never really recovered from the early ridicule at the hands of his mother and perhaps also his only consistent and loyal friend in those years was the Soho in which he frequently passed his time. In the famous drinking clubs he met the likes of John Minton, Francis Bacon, Dylan Thomas and Dan Farson. He also developed as an active Communist and member of CND and for me, these were some of the most revealing and interesting incidents in his life. There is surprisngly little written about his brothers and even less about his sister. It is the story of a man who clearly enjoyed a very active social life but who appears to have often remained solitary and alone within himself. His motive for writing the book was as 'a confession' - one that may liberate him to write verse and to write it well, which he certainly later achieved. There were glimpses of the man in his friendship with Joyce Grenfell and with his daughters but by the end of the book, I didn't really feel that I knew him very much better than at the beginning. Perhaps the real strength of the book lies in the justifiably cathartic benefit for the author. For those interested in Bohemian Soho, British Communism and CND, this will prove to be an interesting read.