The fictional follow-up to presumably at least somewhat factual “He Died With a Falafel in his Hand” was eagerly awaited by many, including me, when it was released back in the 1990s. As “He Died … “ was such a cult hit with many generation Xers relating to the descriptions of share house horrors, it was expected that the follow-up would be a similar range of true stories. Instead we got a novel about house sharing which sadly falls far short of what many Felafel fans hoped.

The Tasmanian babes take a long time to make it into the story but all through “Tasmanian Babes” there is an amiable ramble through the lives of the share house members and their need to come up with rent money after a new flatmate does a runner with their rent. However, as “Falafel’s” drunken, stoned chaotic approach to writing worked, Birmingham is unable to make us care about the “Tasmanian Babes” characters enough to want to move in with them. ( )