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Full Bore
William McInnes, one of Australia's best-loved entertainers and authors, takes a look at the Aussie obsession with sports and pop culture.A chance encounter in an auction house is the jumping-off point for William's inimitable take on our sport-obsessed nation, Australian popular culture and the artefacts and memorabilia that both make us cringe with recognition and laugh with warm affection. His trademark humour and anecdotes litter this collection, making it a true delight.These are truly Aussie about us, and about the things - and the people - in our lives.**Includes BONUS CHAPTERS of two William McInnes A Man's Got to Have a Hobby and Holidays and an extract from his latest hilarious and heartwarming memoir, Fatherhood**PRAISE FOR WILLIAM McINNES' WRITING'warm, nostalgic, funny and undeniably Australian' SYDNEY MORNING HERALD'a natural storyteller' SUN-HERALD'If there is a quintessence of Australianness at its best, William McInnes has distilled it.' THE AGE
304 pages, Kindle Edition
Published October 25, 2016
2 people are currently reading
44 people want to read
About the author
William McInnes
32 books75 followersDarryl William McInnes (born 10 September 1963) is one of Australia’s most popular stage and screen actors.
His leading roles in Sea Change and Blue Heelers have made him a household name. The mini-series Shark Net and My Brother Jack earned him widespread critical acclaim. He has been nominated for numerous stage and screen awards, and has won a Variety Club Drama Award in 1997 and two Logie awards for Most Outstanding Actor in 2000 and 2004.
William grew up in Queensland and has travelled extensively throughout Australia. He now lives in Melbourne with his two children. He was married to the late film maker Sarah Watt.
His leading roles in Sea Change and Blue Heelers have made him a household name. The mini-series Shark Net and My Brother Jack earned him widespread critical acclaim. He has been nominated for numerous stage and screen awards, and has won a Variety Club Drama Award in 1997 and two Logie awards for Most Outstanding Actor in 2000 and 2004.
William grew up in Queensland and has travelled extensively throughout Australia. He now lives in Melbourne with his two children. He was married to the late film maker Sarah Watt.
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Displaying 1 - 20 of 20 reviews
November 30, 2017
Warning: It's probably not wise to listen to the audiobook of this (read by William himself) on public transport or anywhere else that you may be embarrassed. When I wasn't hooting with laughter, I was having a little cry. William is a master comedy storyteller, but he's also a sentimental old boofhead with the tenderest of hearts.
William manages to capture the essence of Australia past and present in his own rambling style, telling stories about people and places and times that are all too familiar to many Australians. Definitely a delightful read.
William manages to capture the essence of Australia past and present in his own rambling style, telling stories about people and places and times that are all too familiar to many Australians. Definitely a delightful read.
April 28, 2022
Sweet, funny, nostalgic, sentimental, self deprecating. All the good feels delivered with impeccable comedic timing. He seems to have an unending supply of memories from his childhood. Maybe if I wrote down every memory, and then made them funny, I would have as many, but I suspect not. The section on the plastic toys in the cereal packets, the sibling rivalry in getting them, the sneaky methods of acquiring the missing one of the set, and then the dads denture plate being hidden in the box had me nearly wetting the bed.......
January 24, 2017
Crocs. I mean crocs as in footwear. Now here's a fact about them you may or may not know. They are banned at my local casino here in Hobart. And that's not the only place. Seems the local council responsible for keeping the natives in an acceptable state of dress have banned them in the little seaside resort of Bridport. How do I know? Well, my son told me so. I was visiting him and his lovely wife and we were preparing to saunter down the aptly named Main Street to the pub for a counter meal. When I emerged, casually dressed for the occasion, my son pointed to my comfy crocs and stated, 'You can't wear those down the street here Dad'. Well, who am I to flaunt what are obviously local regulations, so I quickly changed into sandals, which it appears the local governance have no objection to whatsoever.
So I guess there are those who are not as enamoured of crocs as footwear as I am – and author William McInnes. And it is thanks to him that I now have perhaps a handle on the origin of my love of them. He claims his comes from the fact that, back in the day, come summer, thongs were his main foot apparel – and that was the case for me too before age and common sense caught up with me. Here's the man himself on the subject - 'My love of thongs probably led to my affair with the much maligned crocs.
I love a pair of crocs; weird, clunky bits of foamy whatever they are, they were originally designed as a spa shoe. Well, that says it all. My mother called them 'formal thongs' and I have committed many footwear sins with crocs.
I wore them once to an awards ceremony, simply because I forgot to have them on. Too comfortable by half.
A word to the wise: they're not very functional in wet weather, especially when you run out to the bin in early morning drizzle trying to catch the rubbish truck.
Slipping is an understatement. I went Torvill and Dean-ing down the footpath as if the bin and I were going for gold in the pairs figure-skating.
And like slipping one's feet into a cherished pair of crocs, dipping into a new William McInnes memoir is like returning to an old mate who will give you value for money. As with 'A Man's Got to Have a Hobby' and 'Holidays' before it, 'Full Bore' entertains with a cycle of yarns that are sometimes thought-provoking, sometimes poignant, sometimes full of love for fellow humanity and invariably chortle-inducing. These days, like my trusty (except in stormy weather) crocs, you know what you'll get with this fellow and he delivers in spades.
His tales commence and finish in an auction house, as is entirely suitable as McInnes was once host of an ABC series with the moniker 'Auction House' (2012). A friend of mine happened to be producer of that series and relates that WMcI was a bit of a funny bugger to be around, with this sure reflected in his wordsmithery. I reckon my old Dad, had he still been with us, would have loved his yarns. Now my father was a dab hand at the old bush art of brewing billy tea and would have had a giggle at Will's own dad's attempt at the dying art – 'He picked up the tea towel, carefully folded it over a few times and wrapped it around the billy's handle and said casually, 'Show you a trick to get a good cup of tea.'
My mother looked up from distributing egg sandwiches with a slightly anxious note, 'Colin?'
'I know what I'm about love.' He stood, carefully, positioning his legs wide apart and staggering them slightly with his front leg bent at the knee.
'Watch yourself,' he said with a look at us, and then to himself, 'Here we go.' He slowly started to turn his stiffened right arm around in a full circle, and the steaming billy went with it.
'Colin!' my mother said again.
'It's right, don't bend the elbow, that's the trick!' grunted my father. He kept rotating his arm and then for a bit of fun, I think, he went faster and faster. The billy became a blur.
'Colin!' my mother shouted.
'It's right!' my father yelled back happily.
'It looks like you're about to take off!'
My father giggled and was about to speak back to my mother when something did take off – the billy.
'Christ almighty!' yelled my father and staggered forward in little steps, the handle of the billy still wrapped in the tea towel clutched in his hands sans the billy.
'Lift off!!' cried my mother and we kids ran screaming in all directions as the billy soared up into the air with a graceful arc; courtesy of the handle giving out at the bottom of one of my father's great swings, and landed in the carpark with a thud as it spat tea everywhere.
After that tea-bags, and occasionally coffee, were taken on the picnics.
I bet my dear old Dad would not have ever made such a schmozzle of it as Will's father did in the early pages of 'Full Bore'.
Further into the memoir there's both poignancy for himself and his brother involved as their mother approaches death – 'On one occasion I walked into her room and a sister on a pastoral visit sat beside her. I thought my mum was sleeping but the sister smiled up at me and waved a little and then said to my mother gently, 'Iris, your son is here.'
My mother didn't move.
'Iris?' said the sister again, just as gently, but a little louder.
I looked down at my mum, a big wonderful woman, not always perfect, sometimes shy and prone to quick judgement, but always there whenever any of her children might have needed her.
The woman whose arms had held me, whose voice had soothed me and whose love had surrounded me all my life, now diminished and stricken in bed.
'Iris,' said the sister again. 'Your son.'
My mother's mouth opened slightly and she said, 'Is it the fat one or the stupid one?'
The look on the sister's face I will always remember, it was all she could do not to laugh, a hint of a smile was there as she just as quietly and gently, while keeping her eyes on me, 'I'm not sure, Iris.'
My mum's head slowly turned and one eye opened and took me in and then she sighed. 'Bound to happen, the stupid one's gotten fat.'
I loved it when he got into the sharing of music with his daughter – something that I adore doing with my own treasured, beautiful, writerly one – My daughter said something. I didn't hear. I kept driving and she said something again so I nodded.
Music began to play. The music from my daughter's phone was booming through the car's system. Music collected from her life. I drove along with traffic on the freeway...
The first three songs were all Beatles; she sang along with them. 'Love Me Do', 'The Ballad of John and Yoko' and 'Revolution'. 'This is really good, this one,' she said as 'Revolution' howled away...
'Really good,' said my daughter, bopping away beside me in her school uniform.
Next was Florence and the Machine. Then a UK Squeeze song, 'Another Nail in My Heart'. I sang along with her. She laughed and then clicked ahead a bit and it was dear old Mental as Anything with 'If You Leave Me Can I Come Too?' I laughed.
'Your mum and I loved this song.' I told her.
'I know,' she said.
Then a group I didn't know.
I said this to my daughter and she laughed. 'Of Monsters and Men.'
She clicked again and let me have a Dean Martin. 'On an Evening in Roma'.
We sang along, the way her mother and I used to.
'You can hear his smile,' said my daughter.
My daughter is about to have a rite of passage for every mother when, in a few weeks, our beloved Tessa Tiger, with much anticipation and excitement, will pass through the gates to her first school day. McInnes has that covered too – I remember walking her up to school. She was wearing the big, green broad-brimmed hat that barely stayed on her head and, just before she walked into the assembly hall, holding my hand so tight I thought she might break something, she looked up to me and gave me a little smile.
Then she let go and disappeared into the lines of children who all looked like green-topped mushrooms in their big hats. I looked at my hand, at the marks her little nails had made and, by the time I was halfway back down the street the marks had disappeared and I felt a little odd. Not sad, but as if some part of my life was changing, as if something had left.
At one stage he gets on to dead people – the ones that have left an imprint on our collective lives, such as the many who left us during the last twelve months. He riffed on the touchstones of further back such as John Wayne and Bing Crosby. But for William, perhaps the one who meant the most was fellow Aussie thespian Wendy Hughes who passed in 2014 – 'As he stalked off down a tunnel to obscurity (in the film) Wendy Hughes gave a wonderful, unexplainable look of love and admiration towards him and said in her warm, lovely Australian voice, 'He's just old-fashioned.'
At the age of thirteen I thought her beautiful and smart and strong, and I hoped somewhere in my adolescent dreams that someday someone would say something like that about me... somehow that moment on screen buried itself deep in my mind. Perhaps it was the look she gave, perhaps it was the film. Perhaps it was just a moment.
At a friend's party one New Year's Eve (much later) I met Wendy Hughes. 'Met' is too big a word. We were both introduced as we headed in different directions.
Wendy Hughes. Nineteen seventy-eight was a long time ago by then, but when she turned to me and said hello, I just stared, a little in shock. And then said, like a loon, 'Good evening.'
Wendy Hughes laughed and looked a bit surprised at the formal phrase, especially on New Year's Eve.
My friend said, 'You've got to forgive William, he's from Queensland.'
Wendy Hughes looked at me, smiled, and said, 'He's just old-fashioned.'
I don't mind admitting, I nearly cried.
It's all lovely, lovely stuff, like the extracts above. I admit I've used William's own words to compliment his work in 'Full Bore' rather than my own praises – but I think it speaks for itself. So if you're in the market for a bonzer yarn-spinner of the laconic Aussie variety you'd be hard up to better this guy. He can produce belly laughs and tears of sadness on the same page such is his magic. He has the knack. He makes the ordinary and everyday for those of us, lucky enough to live in this wonderful country, simply extraordinary.
So I guess there are those who are not as enamoured of crocs as footwear as I am – and author William McInnes. And it is thanks to him that I now have perhaps a handle on the origin of my love of them. He claims his comes from the fact that, back in the day, come summer, thongs were his main foot apparel – and that was the case for me too before age and common sense caught up with me. Here's the man himself on the subject - 'My love of thongs probably led to my affair with the much maligned crocs.
I love a pair of crocs; weird, clunky bits of foamy whatever they are, they were originally designed as a spa shoe. Well, that says it all. My mother called them 'formal thongs' and I have committed many footwear sins with crocs.
I wore them once to an awards ceremony, simply because I forgot to have them on. Too comfortable by half.
A word to the wise: they're not very functional in wet weather, especially when you run out to the bin in early morning drizzle trying to catch the rubbish truck.
Slipping is an understatement. I went Torvill and Dean-ing down the footpath as if the bin and I were going for gold in the pairs figure-skating.
And like slipping one's feet into a cherished pair of crocs, dipping into a new William McInnes memoir is like returning to an old mate who will give you value for money. As with 'A Man's Got to Have a Hobby' and 'Holidays' before it, 'Full Bore' entertains with a cycle of yarns that are sometimes thought-provoking, sometimes poignant, sometimes full of love for fellow humanity and invariably chortle-inducing. These days, like my trusty (except in stormy weather) crocs, you know what you'll get with this fellow and he delivers in spades.
His tales commence and finish in an auction house, as is entirely suitable as McInnes was once host of an ABC series with the moniker 'Auction House' (2012). A friend of mine happened to be producer of that series and relates that WMcI was a bit of a funny bugger to be around, with this sure reflected in his wordsmithery. I reckon my old Dad, had he still been with us, would have loved his yarns. Now my father was a dab hand at the old bush art of brewing billy tea and would have had a giggle at Will's own dad's attempt at the dying art – 'He picked up the tea towel, carefully folded it over a few times and wrapped it around the billy's handle and said casually, 'Show you a trick to get a good cup of tea.'
My mother looked up from distributing egg sandwiches with a slightly anxious note, 'Colin?'
'I know what I'm about love.' He stood, carefully, positioning his legs wide apart and staggering them slightly with his front leg bent at the knee.
'Watch yourself,' he said with a look at us, and then to himself, 'Here we go.' He slowly started to turn his stiffened right arm around in a full circle, and the steaming billy went with it.
'Colin!' my mother said again.
'It's right, don't bend the elbow, that's the trick!' grunted my father. He kept rotating his arm and then for a bit of fun, I think, he went faster and faster. The billy became a blur.
'Colin!' my mother shouted.
'It's right!' my father yelled back happily.
'It looks like you're about to take off!'
My father giggled and was about to speak back to my mother when something did take off – the billy.
'Christ almighty!' yelled my father and staggered forward in little steps, the handle of the billy still wrapped in the tea towel clutched in his hands sans the billy.
'Lift off!!' cried my mother and we kids ran screaming in all directions as the billy soared up into the air with a graceful arc; courtesy of the handle giving out at the bottom of one of my father's great swings, and landed in the carpark with a thud as it spat tea everywhere.
After that tea-bags, and occasionally coffee, were taken on the picnics.
I bet my dear old Dad would not have ever made such a schmozzle of it as Will's father did in the early pages of 'Full Bore'.
Further into the memoir there's both poignancy for himself and his brother involved as their mother approaches death – 'On one occasion I walked into her room and a sister on a pastoral visit sat beside her. I thought my mum was sleeping but the sister smiled up at me and waved a little and then said to my mother gently, 'Iris, your son is here.'
My mother didn't move.
'Iris?' said the sister again, just as gently, but a little louder.
I looked down at my mum, a big wonderful woman, not always perfect, sometimes shy and prone to quick judgement, but always there whenever any of her children might have needed her.
The woman whose arms had held me, whose voice had soothed me and whose love had surrounded me all my life, now diminished and stricken in bed.
'Iris,' said the sister again. 'Your son.'
My mother's mouth opened slightly and she said, 'Is it the fat one or the stupid one?'
The look on the sister's face I will always remember, it was all she could do not to laugh, a hint of a smile was there as she just as quietly and gently, while keeping her eyes on me, 'I'm not sure, Iris.'
My mum's head slowly turned and one eye opened and took me in and then she sighed. 'Bound to happen, the stupid one's gotten fat.'
I loved it when he got into the sharing of music with his daughter – something that I adore doing with my own treasured, beautiful, writerly one – My daughter said something. I didn't hear. I kept driving and she said something again so I nodded.
Music began to play. The music from my daughter's phone was booming through the car's system. Music collected from her life. I drove along with traffic on the freeway...
The first three songs were all Beatles; she sang along with them. 'Love Me Do', 'The Ballad of John and Yoko' and 'Revolution'. 'This is really good, this one,' she said as 'Revolution' howled away...
'Really good,' said my daughter, bopping away beside me in her school uniform.
Next was Florence and the Machine. Then a UK Squeeze song, 'Another Nail in My Heart'. I sang along with her. She laughed and then clicked ahead a bit and it was dear old Mental as Anything with 'If You Leave Me Can I Come Too?' I laughed.
'Your mum and I loved this song.' I told her.
'I know,' she said.
Then a group I didn't know.
I said this to my daughter and she laughed. 'Of Monsters and Men.'
She clicked again and let me have a Dean Martin. 'On an Evening in Roma'.
We sang along, the way her mother and I used to.
'You can hear his smile,' said my daughter.
My daughter is about to have a rite of passage for every mother when, in a few weeks, our beloved Tessa Tiger, with much anticipation and excitement, will pass through the gates to her first school day. McInnes has that covered too – I remember walking her up to school. She was wearing the big, green broad-brimmed hat that barely stayed on her head and, just before she walked into the assembly hall, holding my hand so tight I thought she might break something, she looked up to me and gave me a little smile.
Then she let go and disappeared into the lines of children who all looked like green-topped mushrooms in their big hats. I looked at my hand, at the marks her little nails had made and, by the time I was halfway back down the street the marks had disappeared and I felt a little odd. Not sad, but as if some part of my life was changing, as if something had left.
At one stage he gets on to dead people – the ones that have left an imprint on our collective lives, such as the many who left us during the last twelve months. He riffed on the touchstones of further back such as John Wayne and Bing Crosby. But for William, perhaps the one who meant the most was fellow Aussie thespian Wendy Hughes who passed in 2014 – 'As he stalked off down a tunnel to obscurity (in the film) Wendy Hughes gave a wonderful, unexplainable look of love and admiration towards him and said in her warm, lovely Australian voice, 'He's just old-fashioned.'
At the age of thirteen I thought her beautiful and smart and strong, and I hoped somewhere in my adolescent dreams that someday someone would say something like that about me... somehow that moment on screen buried itself deep in my mind. Perhaps it was the look she gave, perhaps it was the film. Perhaps it was just a moment.
At a friend's party one New Year's Eve (much later) I met Wendy Hughes. 'Met' is too big a word. We were both introduced as we headed in different directions.
Wendy Hughes. Nineteen seventy-eight was a long time ago by then, but when she turned to me and said hello, I just stared, a little in shock. And then said, like a loon, 'Good evening.'
Wendy Hughes laughed and looked a bit surprised at the formal phrase, especially on New Year's Eve.
My friend said, 'You've got to forgive William, he's from Queensland.'
Wendy Hughes looked at me, smiled, and said, 'He's just old-fashioned.'
I don't mind admitting, I nearly cried.
It's all lovely, lovely stuff, like the extracts above. I admit I've used William's own words to compliment his work in 'Full Bore' rather than my own praises – but I think it speaks for itself. So if you're in the market for a bonzer yarn-spinner of the laconic Aussie variety you'd be hard up to better this guy. He can produce belly laughs and tears of sadness on the same page such is his magic. He has the knack. He makes the ordinary and everyday for those of us, lucky enough to live in this wonderful country, simply extraordinary.
September 27, 2021
A really enjoyable audiobook.
January 26, 2017
Told in that rambling, anecdotal style which is easily distracted by the next bright shiny thought, this is a collection of reminiscences which will spark warm fuzzies in any Australian born between 1955 & 65, especially the males. I enjoyed it but like the Gigantor theme, it this format if his writing doesn't change, book by book.
January 26, 2018
🙋🏼♀️Hands up hardcore fangirl of everything McInnes has written and this one is no exception. His novels (Cricket Kings and The Birdwatcher) are glorious and his extensive range of non-fiction texts are thoroughly engaging reads. I was given this book as a gift for Christmas 2016 😳 and my only excuse is that I knew once I read it I wouldn’t have a McInnes book to look forward to. Hopefully there’s another one on the way soon. In Full Bore we are taken on a meandering ramble of amusing anecdotes that cover a broad range of topics related to growing up in Australia in the 70s and 80s (something Mr McInnes and I have in common). I especially enjoyed his reminiscences of favoured television programs, such as Gilligan’s Island and the Thunderbirds, but when he mentioned my true love, Prince Planet, I knew I was on a winner. There are heartwarming stories of moments shared with his children and laugh out loud recounts of some of the more extremely silly situations McInnes has found himself in. A thoroughly enjoyable and highly recommended read.
June 20, 2017
A joyous laconic mix of fragmented memories as McInnes's memories are triggered by stray meetings and events. There is pathos and a wonderful self-depreciating humour layered with an occasional softly pointed comment (what many of us would recognise as a 'dig') in the writing, and whilst some of the memories would only be familiar to Queenslanders (specifically south east Queenslanders of a certain age) there is enough here that will be familiar to non-sandgropers (of a certain age).
Reading McInnes's work is like joining a wide ranging conversation around the kitchen table at a family get together, full of shared memories. Indeed, just as in a family get together I found myself smiling and nodding in remembrance as I read and, as my own memories were reawakened, going on my own trip into that jumbled world of memories that lurks within us all.
Thanks to the publishers Hachette for giving me the opportunity to read 'Full Bore'.
Reading McInnes's work is like joining a wide ranging conversation around the kitchen table at a family get together, full of shared memories. Indeed, just as in a family get together I found myself smiling and nodding in remembrance as I read and, as my own memories were reawakened, going on my own trip into that jumbled world of memories that lurks within us all.
Thanks to the publishers Hachette for giving me the opportunity to read 'Full Bore'.
March 31, 2018
Nostalgia is always what it used to be !!McInnes captures past memories of stories and people which are “ light bulb” memory moments for those like me who lived in these times. Long forgotten memories and events are brought back to life with humour and wit. Indeed “the hard times “ of our previous lives are now “ the good old days “. For some of my vintage who start a conversation with “ when I was young “ Full Bore is the perfect gift But a word of warning , do not go near them while they are reading or drop pearls like Maxwell House Coffee, Bevan Bleakley or Football doubles etc unless you you have a lot of time to spare
May 9, 2022
A gentle, rather wistful gathering together of memories and musings. McInnes presents recollections within recollections, the weave of his stories constituting less a riotous series of anecdotes and more an appreciation of life as a mosaic of shared happiness and small moments.
March 24, 2017
This made me laugh from start to finish. The story about Astroboy was fantastic.
May 8, 2019
Listened on audio read by the author. A fun, rambling trip down memory lane from a bloke with plenty of amusing and interesting things to say - and lots of memories in common.
June 6, 2020
Love his rambles.
December 3, 2020
I love his crafted, rambling stories. It's even better to hear him speak
July 10, 2025
This was an excellent series of anecdotes and memories from one of Australia's funniest writers. I love it.
March 19, 2017
Not as funny as William McInnes' other books that I have read, but still very enjoyable.
May 20, 2017
Drivers caught in the act when they believe they are unobserved at the traffic lights, collectible toys from the cereal packets of yore, awkward dinner party conversations and the messy universe of the young are all in safe hands here. The snapshots of every day life provide glorious material for FULL BORE, another celebration by author William McInnes of what richness can be found in the small moments.
The author, in both writing and speaking mode, is a master at going off on a tangent and then circling back to his original rumination. McInnes can be a bit Douglas Adams ala THE HITCH HIKERS GUIDE TO THE GALAXY in this regard. You get the impression that nothing is wasted in this author’s day; all his small observations of the lives of others are retained and plopped into a basket of thoughts after which any may be usefully extracted as required. Having heard him speak several times at writers’ festivals, I can happily say that he can reproduce this whip smart narration on the spot at a moment’s notice – he is frighteningly sharp and probably quite terrifying to interview.
The scattered memoir books of McInnes are all similar in style and successful in drawing back Australian readers into what it was like growing up and maturing in the Australian suburbs. Sport features a fair bit. Random encounters with strangers provide a lot of whimsical material. So do the numerous snapshots featuring family, friends and colleagues. The latter category is quite vast as McInnes crammed a lot into his professional life whilst raising his kids and sometimes working alongside his late wife, Sarah Watt. Regardless of where McInnes sources his material from, it all manages to be relatable content.
McInnes always gives the impression that he takes nothing for granted and that all of life’s experiences are worthwhile. They might end up in a bestselling book one day. It is true – William McInnes is a born storyteller, spinner of yarns and writer of a solid collection of very entertaining books about Australian life. Funny to read and full of laconic warmth, these works will resonate, regardless from whatever piece of Australian it is that you hail from.
FULL BORE, as is with the other works by this author, does leave you feeling a little bit melancholic about our shared Australian past but reassures us that life goes on and that there will always be much more to experience. The best parts of it are still there in the every day and the bells and whistles were never what it was all about.
The author, in both writing and speaking mode, is a master at going off on a tangent and then circling back to his original rumination. McInnes can be a bit Douglas Adams ala THE HITCH HIKERS GUIDE TO THE GALAXY in this regard. You get the impression that nothing is wasted in this author’s day; all his small observations of the lives of others are retained and plopped into a basket of thoughts after which any may be usefully extracted as required. Having heard him speak several times at writers’ festivals, I can happily say that he can reproduce this whip smart narration on the spot at a moment’s notice – he is frighteningly sharp and probably quite terrifying to interview.
The scattered memoir books of McInnes are all similar in style and successful in drawing back Australian readers into what it was like growing up and maturing in the Australian suburbs. Sport features a fair bit. Random encounters with strangers provide a lot of whimsical material. So do the numerous snapshots featuring family, friends and colleagues. The latter category is quite vast as McInnes crammed a lot into his professional life whilst raising his kids and sometimes working alongside his late wife, Sarah Watt. Regardless of where McInnes sources his material from, it all manages to be relatable content.
McInnes always gives the impression that he takes nothing for granted and that all of life’s experiences are worthwhile. They might end up in a bestselling book one day. It is true – William McInnes is a born storyteller, spinner of yarns and writer of a solid collection of very entertaining books about Australian life. Funny to read and full of laconic warmth, these works will resonate, regardless from whatever piece of Australian it is that you hail from.
FULL BORE, as is with the other works by this author, does leave you feeling a little bit melancholic about our shared Australian past but reassures us that life goes on and that there will always be much more to experience. The best parts of it are still there in the every day and the bells and whistles were never what it was all about.
December 4, 2016
A great laugh and wonderful real life stories from a born tale teller. Great Summer read.
January 8, 2017
Loved it. Being contemporaneous helped - it always does!
April 29, 2017
Constantly chuckling! Many poignant moments and memories were thoroughly and enjoyably recounted!
A great holiday read from the "heart throb" of my middle age
A great holiday read from the "heart throb" of my middle age
May 1, 2017
Once again this delightful Aussie bloke has made me laugh out loud and cry silent tears...... and for that he gets 4 stars. It is not my favourite of his memoirs - I found this one more 'rambley' than others..... and harder for him to reign back in to round off each chapter......but nevertheless, he is a treasure. His extraordinary memory for the ordinary ..... and his crafting of these snippets into tales that touch us.... is pure brilliance.
Love, love, love the story about the video - in a bar in the north of Western Australia. Childhood memories came flooding back....plus a few tears. Gorgeous.
Love, love, love the story about the video - in a bar in the north of Western Australia. Childhood memories came flooding back....plus a few tears. Gorgeous.
Displaying 1 - 20 of 20 reviews