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This is a book about a disenfranchised, lazy, selfish, dishonest, decadent loser whose story reels you in.

Bhupinder, or Puppy as he's known, the central character, is the son of immigrant Indians who live in Southall, west London. Trapped in a spiral of depression and isolation, every day – holidays included – merged into the same flatline of sadness. As a child, I experienced a father who was by turns drunk, work-obsessed and a terrifying bully, and a depressed and resentful mother, prone to fits of stamping and ranting around the house, tearing her clothes and threatening suicide if I dared to be upset by her. In real life, he's much more fired up, more animated, more this-is-me-and-if-you-don't-like-it-fuck-you. All social and racial taboos are thrown to the wind as Puppy 'screws' his white friends in more way than one.But with this book I was just willing it to end differently and was so, so disappointed when it didn't.

I will never forget pouring with sweat as I thrashed a cushion with a plastic bat, finally expressing all the rage I kept withheld in my body. I know what he got in his A-levels, how he feels about going up ladders, when he dumped his girlfriend, how he paid for the flowers he gave her when they got back together, whether he has paid for sex, how often he farts, how he behaved at his wedding and what his penis looks like in the bath (four As, terrified, her birthday, her credit card, yes, almost constantly, quite badly and a periscope, respectively).Described as 'brilliant' [2] in The Daily Telegraph, Julie Burchill thought it was 'touched with genius'. Most writing on the country is polarised into the hand-wringing sanctimony of, say, Arundhati Roy, and the tub-thumbing enthusiasm of world-flatteners like Thomas Friedman. I have not doubt if he gets a more interesting subject matter, and a better directed plot that he will become a very successful author. Why should this country enjoy any sporting success, or any sort of prestige, to which ethnic minorities contribute, when it doesn’t afford them the simple decency of not being abused on the training ground, in stadiums, online and elsewhere? He may never have bought her flowers, apart from an orchid in an ugly pot paid for on Liz's credit card, but he's good company.

The rugged, fiddle-fit 37-year-old former Royal Marine commando then crouches, pulling up imaginary clawfuls of plumage.When i started reading the book I wondered if in the end I was going to enjoy it but the further you get into it the more insightful it becomes until the end of the book when i didn't want it to finish. After a life lived like that, it was no surprise when, two years ago, I found myself broke and single, depressed and heavily overweight, surfing the internet for the most convenient way to terminate myself. He quotes VS Naipaul (he thinks): "'Fiction is always autobiography and autobiography is always fiction. best book i read in 2006 - sharp witted insight into a mans place in the world prom a british-asian point of view.

His articles have appeared in many of the mainstream papers, including The Times, Sunday Times, Guardian, Observer, Daily Mail and Mail on Sunday.

He says he hasn't done his book as a response to Liz's writing, to put over his side, but admits subconsciously there may be something like that going on. He wrote about the relationship in The Telegraph in July 2021: "Our marriage was doomed from our wedding day: an occasion I felt swindled into, having never proposed.

  • Fruugo ID: 258392218-563234582
  • EAN: 764486781913
  • Sold by: Fruugo

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