When I was given this book as a present, by a fellow sports fan, I was very excited.
David "Bumble" Lloyd is one of those extremely likeable characters, mainly because he sort of lives up to his nickname - he bumbles along through life without causing anyone any offence - even though you get the sense sometimes that he's trying hard to break this Mr Nice guy image. But at the end of the day, he's just too nice to do so - and that sums up this book really.
It's just too nice.
This is meant to be his autobiography, though having started to read it, I realized that I'd read a lot of his life story in a previous book. So is this a second installment of his autobiography, an updated version of his autobiography, or was one of the two life stories I've read by him not in fact an autobiography? It doesn't matter in the bigger scheme of things - he wouldn't be the first person to write the same story under more than one title after all, would he?
But even though it may be the second telling of the same story, it suffers really because sadly there's just not much of a story to tell here.
He was bought up, he became a professional cricketer, he tried his hand at umpiring, at coaching and a few other odd jobs, and eventually ended up as a chap who appears on radio and television and makes the odd funny remark, and is known more for his malapropismatic tendencies than his cutting wit, his deep homolifics or his searing intellect.
His time as England coach is the usual mix of "would have, should have, could haves" that most ex coaches drone on about without any real self examination or benefit of hindsight admissions that he was anything less than 100% correct all of the time. He is at best ambiguous about his part in one of the most horrible of chapters of Apartheidt South Africa's sporting hall of shame. Time and again, he shows what is either an alarming lack of self awareness - or a deliberate obfuscation of the facts.
Towards the end of the book, specifically in the last two or three chapters, the reader gets the definite sense that something has gone wrong with the typesetting, as paragraphs seem to be appear rather randomly with no apparent link to anything that comes immediately before or afterwards - almost as if a bored sub editor has cut loads of bits out, but hasn't bothered to put some sticking plaster or glue to fill up the narrative gaps left behind.
Yes, there is the odd vaguely amusing anecdote here, and yes, the rather likeable, bumbling character does shine through from time to time, but overall this is at best a rather tepid tin bath of a book....