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The extraordinary life and times of Carl Barat, Libertine.From his childhood in suburban Basingstoke, through times of literally being down and out in London and Paris, to success as one of the co-founders of one of Britain's most revered bands, Carl Barat has gone through the glass darkly as bands fell apart around him, friendships faltered and egos and hedonism threatened to pull his life apart.Untitled Autobiography tells his extraordinary story, in themed chapters. Love tells of early, unrequited ardour, first heartache and the enduring feelings he has for his best friend, Pete Doherty. Work details time spent on the night shift in factory jobs; his first taste of the bright lights and big city as an usher in theatreland; of the moment when rock and roll really did become just another chore. London looks at the city that shaped him and helped nurture him as a song writer even as he slept on its streets; Icons his fascination with Sir Alec Guinness, his adoration of David Niven, the affinity he felt for the War Poets; Drugs – well, you can probably guess.Each chapter is chronologically linked by pages from Barat's journal, each recalling a pivotal moment from his life. The Libertines first NME cover in June 2002; their last ever show in Paris just before Christmas in 2004. Walking out on stage with Pete once more at the Hackney Empire in April 2007; touring broken-hearted and solo along America's West Coast in early 2009. His first night onstage at the Riverside Hammersmith, in Sam Shephard's Fool For Love in January 2010. His thoughts on the upcoming Libertines reunion in August 2010.Untitled Autobiography is a revealing and intimate self-portrait, a story of love and fighting and the creativity that came of that, and a fascinating account of the London of the last decade, with The Libertines its beating heart.

I don't think anyone can have written an autobiography without at some point thinking «Why would anyone want to know this shit?» I've always read them thinking «I don't want to know where Steve Tyler grew up, just tell me how many groupies he f**ked!»'So begins Frankie's outrageous, laugh-out loud, cynical rant on life as he knows it. From growing up in Pollokshaws, Glasgow (‘it was an aching cement void, a slap in the face to Childhood, and for the family it was a step up'), to his rampant teenage sex drive (‘in those days if you glimpsed a nipple on T.V. it was like porn Christmas'), and first job working in a mental hospital ('where most evenings were spent persuading an old man in his pants not to eat a family sized block of cheese'), nothing is out of bounds.Outspoken, outrageous and brilliantly inappropriate, Frankie Boyle says the unsayable as only he can. From the TV programmes he would like to see made ('Celebrities On Acid On Ice: just like Celebrity Dancing On Ice, but with an opening sequence where Graham Norton hoses the celebrities down with liquid LSD'), to his native Scotland and the Mayor of London ('voting for Boris Johnson wasn't that different to voting for a Labrador wearing a Wonder Woman costume'), nothing and no one is safe from Frankie's fearless, sharp-tongued assault.Sharply observed and full of taboo-busting, we-really-shouldn't-be-laughing-at-this humour, My Shit Life So Far shows why Frankie Boyle really is the blackest man in show business.In 2010, MY SHIT LIFE SO FAR won the title of Scotland's favourite summer read, coming top of a list of 20 other books from the likes of Ian Rankin, Iain Banks and Carol Ann Duffy.

An extraordinary memoir from a man in his nineties who remembers everyday life in a North London now long gone: the hardships and deprivations of a life of poverty but also the resourcefulness and fortitude of a community determined to survive between the wars.'When I look back, I can picture the old gels chinwagging on their steps in the Bay like it was yesterday. Little did they think that young Sid, passing by with his arse out of his trousers, would one way publish his memoirs!''Ordinary' people do not write their stories, believing their lives to be unremarkable. Some, like Sid, cannot write at all. But, with the aid of his granddaughter Helen Day, Sid has produced an extraordinary memoir of a city and a way of life now lost forever. ‘London Born’ is a book that has appeared against all the odds – as Sid says, 'When me granddaughter Helen Day said she wanted to record the story of the first half of me life and turn it into a book I was astonished. I thought to meself, Well, I've done a lot of things, but I never dreamt I'd get into the book game. You see, I can't write more than me own name.'In ‘London Born’, Sid remembers the city that emerged from the First World War and recreates the daily life of the people living in the notorious street known as 'Tiger Bay'. He describes the drinking and merrymaking, the poverty and unemployment – and the 'villainry'. With relish he relates how youthful high spirits and a refusal to accept the hardship of the times sometimes put him and his friends on the wrong side of the law. He goes on to tell of the wartime mayhem endured by Londoners and his determination to survive. His story closes with demobilisation when he returns to his wife and young family – 'the only thing that ever counted'.This is a memoir from a warm and cheeky voice; from someone who remembers, as if it were yesterday, parading down Archway in his fifty-bob suit, or running rings around Ernie Costen, the local policeman.