This book by John 'Men Who Stare at Goats' Ronson would have been much improved if the contents had matched the title. More than half of it consisted of Ronson's old columns, recycled, and most (if not all) of these columns consisted of Ronson's giving us the usual fall back of the desperate storyless journo - tales from everyday everyday. Articles about being a Dad, being a husband and occasionally about being a journalist. If there was something interesting or crazy about Ronson's life, I could live with that. But there isn't. He's fitfully amusing in a Louis Theroux, professionally vague sort of way, but if I'm parting with my hardearned, I expect more than the occasional smile. The parts of the book which are actual reporting are better: Ronson covered the Jonathon King trial and also delves into the world of people who feel compelled to donate organs to complete strangers. That's genuine crazy, interesting crazy - not titillating, but thought provoking. Even so, Ronson plays this material with such a straight bat that I found myself longing for the occasional opinion or moment of outrage. No such luck.