Frank Skinner Autobiography

Frank Skinner Autobiography

Language: English

Pages: 272

ISBN: 0099426870

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


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are so thrilled that they’re talking to broadcasters and signing fancy contracts that they worry more about upsetting the TV people than they do about fighting their act’s corner. I knew I wasn’t equipped to deal with some of the tricky fuckers who run telvision, so I thought it might be a good idea to get my own tricky fucker to do it for me. I asked, in turn, every Avalon act, including Dave Baddiel, what they thought of the company and, especially, Jon Thoday. Of course, as is traditional,

was in the press that I was writing my autobiography, I’ve heard from three ex-girlfriends asking me what I was planning to write about them. Like I knew. When I agreed to write this book I had no idea that people in my life would get so edgy about it. I can cope with ex-girlfriends, but I am worried about our Nora. What are my options here? (Yes, I spotted the rhetorical question.) I suppose if I was the perfect brother, I would give the publishers their advance back and abandon the whole

forgive me if I, at any time, referred to ‘the business’. That would be it. Next stop, the fuckin’ Water Rats. Robbie seemed to take it all in good heart, but if he’d placed any value on my opinion at all, it would have been all spoiled when he saw my performance. I died on my arse. I spent ten minutes cracking jokes to an audience that seemed to be mainly ageing gangsters and their wives. You’d think us nouveau riche would stick together but they hated me. Afterwards, I was in the line-up

Yardley area of Birmingham. One number involved me reading a passage from The Black Panther Story, a book about the villain who had done over that post office near Hughes and Jack’s a few years before. The chosen passage described the Panther killing some innocent night-watchman at the nearby Dudley Freightliner depot. In court, the Panther claimed his shotgun had gone off accidentally, twice. As I read, in a punky, ranting-poet voice, the boys blasted out a punk-instrumental version of Roy C’s

Works of Shakespeare. I just wanted to die. As I neared thirty, strange things began happening to me. There was something about the big Three-O that made me start to wonder about what I was doing with my life. It seemed to be happening to a lot of my mates as well, as we all headed for this grim milestone together. They started wearing trendier clothes, dumping their girlfriends, changing their jobs and, of course, doing sit-ups. I think we could all hear the shovel hitting the soil. I

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