I can't for the life of me imagine why this book has not been reprinted as it is brilliantly written and hugely entertaining. One would have thought that the autobiography of a Doctor Who would have been worth keeping in the bookshops, especially as it is presumably his role in that programme which gives second-hand vendors the idea that they can charge outrageous amounts for it. I got mine for thirty five quid, which is the cheapest I have ever seen it. I have a horrible feeling that the fans of Jon Pertwee the character actor and raconteur are being priced out of reading this and that is monstrous.
The ridiculous thing is, he doesn't even write about that role in this book. There was a second volume of his memoirs, only slightly written by him and published after his death, and that talks about practically nothing else. This one takes in his childhood, his schooldays, the death of his girlfriend, his wartime experiences (amongst a host of other things, he narrowly avoided being killed when HMS Hood was sunk during World War Two) and his career up to the 'Navy Lark'... then it stops. This was written in 1984 so there was plenty more to have covered. But having taken us on that leisurely stroll through his early years it is almost as though he realised that writing the rest of his story like that would have taken him hundreds and hundreds of pages. He was just too interesting a man, with too many stories to tell, to be able to condense all that into one book.
I have read this a number of times. Mind you, I would probably have forced myself to do that anyway in order to justify the price I paid for it. And I make sure I wear protective velvet gloves whenever I handle it too. I think Mr Pertwee would have appreciated the sentiments, the velvet and all that. I wish I'd bought this book before my divorce actually, as I am beginning to see why my ex-wife was so obsessed with this man. It is a worthy read and the fact that an old copy, withdrawn from Moray Public Library of all places, seemed relatively cheap at thirty five pounds is a sad state of affairs.