But who wants to read a good book when you have Under No Illusion, the life story of magician Paul Daniels, at your disposal?
It is better than good. It is bad. So bad it is bad and therefore good. But mostly bad. Very bad.
I would like to share with you some of the highlights. Brace yourselves.
We start with his dramatic entrance:
We experience the cold, budgie-killing reality of war:
Something that really gets up his nose by the way, bloody war:
The Holocaust didn’t bother him that much though, until he saw a film:
He finds fat ladies far more traumatic:
Not as traumatic as he finds homosexuals though:
Thankfully nobody has ever thought he was gay, no sir:
He has urges:
And casual sex (a whole chapter thereof):
And rages with lust:
Although his erotic nightmares do point to some sort of issue with women:
As well as his treatment of prostitutes:
And his description of their lady bits:
Oh and his attitude to women in comedy:
And the fact he thinks they are all filthy:
Oh and by the way, as a grown man, he bites toddlers:
He has an interesting name for his penis:
Has an even more interesting take on racism:
Has a yet even more interesting take on the teachings of Gandhi:
He hates cheese, not like you, you idiot:
He once got covered in poo from a faulty boat toilet. One for the memoirs:
He’s not dead, obviously:
He abused his position in local government to spy on his first wife’s lover:
And then presented the lover and wife with a dossier whilst they were in bed:
But things turned around when he met Debbie McGee and they had sex in a rowing boat:
And finally, his most valuable life lesson. Take note:
