At first I wasn't taking to this book – the efforts to poke a dig at the Wallaces, Hawkeses, Gormans et al a touch too heavy, the whole description and oomph of defining the purpose of these proceedings far too woolly (and the author's style of using so many brackets too OTT (damn)). But before too long the author's seeming shtick ran to front the pack and after that it was a pleasant race to watch. I think there is definitely a place for how our man seems to want to grow old before his time – previously he lived through copious coach trips, here he tries crown green bowling, bridge and cryptic crosswords (among many other things (of course)) as he tries on for size as many ways as he can to find an elusive sense of fun.
Fun being very subjective, he does things that clearly aren't going to be fun – volunteering in a charity shop, sitting in public doing sod all, etc – but even those can be interesting to read about. Enjoyable to read about. Fun to read about? Well, again – that's clearly going to rely on your own opinion. And he does actually justify how he finds the fun in such things, which is pleasant. You're willing the fun to be there, of course – a book about the lack of fun for a year would be a return to that there misery memoir genre, which nobody in their right mind wants.
Ultimately this seems to fit into the halfway house between a straight-up diary and one of those self-imposed-quest travel books the aforementioned knocked out (and peppered said charity shops with). He goes here and does this, tries that, and the bruising, face-planting and so on count only goes up. He needn't have done any of it, so it is just larking about for material for a book, but inasmuch as there is little that we can take from this and apply to our own lives, it's not unenjoyable to discover this.
Oh, and to discover "semi-octagonal roofs", which I would have thought were perhaps square. Three and a half stars – four does seem too generous.