The first time I saw Peter Kay, he was opening up for a comedian (whose name I’ve long since forgotten) at an upstairs weekly comedy venue, somewhere in deepest, darkest Bristol.  He was brilliantly funny, exceedingly intuitive and far more original than this book; which is a pity, cause he has over the years, made me laugh to the point of bronchial stupidity!  

But what makes Peter Kay  so infectious and so crucial, is the man himself - rather than his material.  Like Billy Connolly before him (and to a lesser extent, Eddie Izzard), it is the teller of the story who is funny, rather than the other way around.  And therein lies the problem with this book – you’re reading words through an inner prism of your own design, rather than Peter Kay’s; which, depending on location, mood, understanding and of course, the material itself (most of which doesn’t translate onto the written page) are prone to being just that…words.  And not particularly funny ones:
‘’How do you get a room full of women to shout bollocks?  Shout ‘Bingo!’’’
‘‘At the time we all just accepted it as the norm (and I don’t mean that fat bloke off Cheers)…’’
‘’He was a big burly fella, constantly tanned, like a cross between Bully from Bullseye and a fat Des O’Connor.  If you can picture that, then I think you need help.’’

The Sound of Laughter?  

David Marx
The Sound of Laughter -  The Autobiography of Peter Kay
By Peter Kay
Century - £18.99