The dazzlingly funny second volume of Danny Baker's memoirs: the television years. Since my first book was published I have had countless friends and family members get in touch to say how come I hadn't included this story or that tale. Was I ashamed of being shot twice, once up the arse, in Jamaica Road? How long should a man live with such a secret? If by retrospectively dropping my trousers every few pages I can reveal a fuller picture of myself during these years, then so be it. Besides. Being shot up the arse. In front of your mates. What else did I forget?