Anyone who knows who Spencer Matthews is will have a pretty good idea of what his autobiography may contain. For the uninitiated: you have been warned.
Matthews undoubtedly grew up very fast, explaining casually how the urge to have sex first developed when he was 11 and he finally “got rid of the burden of my virginity when I was 13”. While reading about a lifestyle most people can only dream about, any feeling of jealously quickly dissipates as he brags about everything including his prowess at driving while drunk. In some ways it seems like a cry for attention, or an attempt to set the record straight but at the same time you’re left wondering why on earth he felt the need to write a book about his conquests. The fact that his book is the same price and issued at the same time as Sir Alex Ferguson’s and Morrissey’s autobiographies is an absolute mockery of literature in general.
There are some incredible name drops, my favourite being how P Diddy taught a young Matthews how to play backgammon, a valuable skill he would later to use to beat Leonardo di Caprio on a luxury yacht during Cannes film festival. Whilst some anecdotes are entertaining – especially a particular escapade with Colonel Gaddafi’s son – most are crude to say the least. The book is filled with Matthews’ more outrageous sexual experiences from a long, long list of conquests. For example, ‘accidentally’ sleeping with a prostitute while on a Harley Davidson tour of South Africa, he was in competition to rack up the most notches on the bed post with one of his Dad’s best friends.
Over time, these relentless braggart claims become boring and the vulgarity quickly starts to outweigh any lighthearted entertainment.