There might not be so many places that mention Maggi Hambling and Danny Baker in such short a space. This website is one where both are celebrated. The great painter is mentioned in a number of diary entries here, as she works on an oil painting and charcoal drawings of her subject, and Danny is glimpsed in one of the many lists of celebrity good time people in London in the 1990's.
But, for twenty five pounds, cover price, it has to be said you are paying for a fair expanse of material that was covered in The Fry Chronicles which in turn had markings in it to indicate which bits had been in Moab is My Washpot. And the last and longest section is of diary entries that tend to detail golf performances, number of words done on the novel, The Hippopotamus, who he played poker with at the Groucho Club and how much cocaine he took. It certainly is impressive how much work Stephen was doing while constantly having a good time but one gets the feeling with this book, it is a bit thrown together.
Not that it is ever much less than entertaining. We do get more of Stephen's self-criticism of what an 'arse' he is, how lucky and privileged he is to be able to feel such guilt at such luck and privilege. And, having provided text book advice for the novice cocaine addict, he descries and warns against the drug while admitting that it made him feel wonderful.
The Groucho Club with Damien Hirst, Tracey Emin, Blur and the 1990's Brit generation are trashily fascinating without being too uplifting and the rise to really quite some exalted hangouts and friendships is meteoric and almost, it appears, by osmosis and it is another book readily raced through as a priority as if nothing else mattered. But, of course, such fame and fortune are due to an immense talent and the work rate is phenomenal.
You can come back from attending official duties at Dundee University, pop straight over to do yet another commercial voice-over, meet up to write with Hugh Laurie in the afternoon before setting off to an opera or film premiere in the evening and then dinner or the club until the early hours of the next day. I never understand how anybody has time to write a diary each and every night but Stephen is something else. If everything else is allowable, and one is never in any doubt that he is an all round fine man, the one thing you really don't want to have paid good money for is the endless variations on the way he signs off the diary each night. Although, having just flicked through to check for some, there's not as many of them as it seemed. How very odd.
