I'm going to be frank here. I love John Barrowman. My friend, Adam, pushed me to read his book, namely because I kept badgering him to show me what was so funny when we sat in the library and he kept bursting into fits of giggles. I'm so pleased he let me borrow his copy and read it last year, before I received my own copy and re-read it again this year. There's something friendly about John Barrowman and his story-telling. When I read his autobiographies, I honestly feel like i'm sat with him, drinking tea and listening to his wonderfully colourful life stories. There's not really much more I can add to this, other than the fact that if you don't laugh at his re-telling of a 'bear-sighting' in a camp site with his niece and nephew, or at the brilliant 'emergency-flapping' story, there's something wrong with you.