Book review: Let’s Do It: The Authorised Biography of Victoria Wood

It was perhaps her finest moment.

The song (apparently fiendishly difficult to perform) takes the form of a conversation between a husband, Barry and his wife Freda as she, following a broadcast of Gardeners’ Question Time, cautiously at first but with steadily increasing passion and verve attempts to initiate sex. Ignoring Barry’s pleas to abstain, (“I’m imploring: I’m boring, Let me read this catalogue on vinyl flooring,”) the song builds to an impressive crescendo with Freda ultimately suggesting he “hit me on the bottom with a Woman’s Weekly.” “The Ballad of Barry and Freda” often referred to simply as “Let’s Do It” is undoubtedly Victoria Wood’s most famous and popular song. It also provides the name of this thoroughly researched and well-written, authorised biography which arrives four-and-a half year’s after the much-loved comedian, actress, writer and musician’s premature death in 2016.

Victoria Wood’s career was not short on magic moments. Many came during her memorable ITV performance, An Audience With Victoria Wood in 1988, with which that song is often strongly associated. Many others come courtesy of her series, Victoria Wood As Seen On TV (which introduced the world to the deliberately amateurish delights of soap opera parody, Acorn Antiques) while later high points included Pat and Margaret, the sitcom Dinnerladies, Housewife, 49 and That Day We Sang.

Many of her finest moments, in fact, came from other performers such as Julie Walters, Celia Imrie and Patricia Routledge, the hardworking Wood almost invariably providing the scripts.

This comprehensive biography provides Wood with a well-deserved celebration of her hugely accomplished life while not glossing over her unhappy childhood, difficult rise to the top, her sometimes infuriating perfectionism, her marriage break-up as well as her heartbreaking final illness.

Let’s Do It: The Authorised Biography of Victoria Wood, by Jasper Rees. Published by: Trapeze.

Book review: How To Be Champion by Sarah Millican

how-to-be-champion.jpgBook review: How To Be Champion by Sarah Millican: My Autobiography. Published by: Trapeze.

There is undoubtedly something very likeable about Sarah Millican. As with Jimmy Carr, she is blessed with an uncanny ability to switch from being sweet one moment to filthy the next. This tendency is certainly deployed to good effect in this autobiography.

On the other hand, despite being probably the most successful female stand-up in the UK, she retains a down to earth ordinary quality which Carr and most other comedians lack. Millican would doubtless be embarrassed by the comparison, but it is something she has in common with the late Victoria Wood.

It is undoubtedly a result of her background. In her early forties now, South Shields born Millican lived a relatively normal university-free existence for years, only turning to stand-up comedy as a means of coping with the collapse of her first marriage in her late twenties. Success came fairly quickly and she won the Edinburgh Best Newcomer award in 2008 beating off competition from the likes of Jon Richardson, Micky Flanagan and Zoe Lyons. Since her the success of her 2012 BBC TV series, The Sarah Millican Television Programme she has been unstoppable. She is now married to comic Gary Delaney (a regular on Mock The Week).

This is a funny, occasionally moving book perhaps slightly let down by its adoption of the overused self-help book format, a technique currently deployed seemingly by every comedy autobiography under the sun. Millican is very open about her difficulties with the harsher side of fame, refreshingly honest about her total lack of desire to ever have children and is clearly achingly vulnerable to the slings and arrows of often misogynistic abuse frequently directed at her by critics on Twitter and elsewhere. She quotes a breathtakingly rude Telegraph review of her 2013 Who Do You Think You Are? appearance by Christopher Howse (who she doesn’t name although I am happy to) in full. Referring to her “piping Geordie voice and dumpy frame,” it is less a piece of journalism, than a sustained and wholly unwarranted personal attack. Howse should be utterly ashamed of himself.

However, this is generally a light, enjoyable read from one of Britain’s comedy national treasures.

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