Deliberately unhelpful, almost entirely free of useful generalizations, and shamelessly frank about the realities of fatherhood from conception to ten years, this book plunges into the whole sordid business of nappies, boredom, family excursions to preserved warships, clothes that don't fit, toys, bonding, vomit, financial ruin, and happiness. There is also, of course, the matter of nursery-school fathers' races, where the author finds himself overtaken by the whole field, including a grandfather, but is rescued from humiliation by his own son, aged five.