Why Do I Say These Things? by Jonathan Ross

He doesn't seem to have an "off" switch. Such naturalness has to be carefully crafted, of course, a fact driven home by this fluent and entertaining book.

Why Do I Say These Things? is a collection of musings drawn from Ross's life, a sort of autobiography by self-effacing anecdote. As with the best of this kind, it's like spending several companionable hours in his company as he ranges across religion, celebrity, weight loss, fashion, puberty, punk and family life. The illusion of confessional openness is strong.

It's hard to imagine another prominent personality who would admit to performing a sex act with his family's vacuum cleaner, or to effectively flaying his own penis to get rid of a genital wart.

Ross admits he has a nice life.

The book is underpinned by his happy, if unwealthy, London childhood, his 20-year marriage to Jane Goldman, and their chaotic home life with three "gorgeous" children, seven dogs and an extensive comic-book collection.

He's made a career and a fortune by pursuing his childhood obsessions and presents himself as a sort of starry-eyed child-man, prone to sartorial and verbal gaffes: he wears, and says, what many of us might like to, but wouldn't dare. His wife may feel he shares too much, given that he describes her here, rising from a "quickie" on the stairs snatched in a child-free moment, with a Sticklebrick stuck to each buttock.

It should be noted there are passages here far more likely to offend the sensitive than anything he said in Sachsgate.

For instance, Ross claims his parents thought him too unattractive as a child to warn him against paedophiles, unlike his many siblings.

Some could surely manufacture outrage from the hilarious episode where Ross, then a TV researcher, is asked to administer hand relief to a disabled boss. Or when he turns up drunk on a scooter, wearing a Sikh turban instead of a helmet, to his daughter's school play.

Generally, though, this is a very agreeable ramble through the lively thoughts of a nonsmoking, now non-drinking family man with a talent to amuse and enthuse.

Ross's most contentious assertion is that Scientology is no more bonkers than any other religion, and that Tom Cruise is one of the nicest, most normal blokes around.

Although he drops plenty of names — including, ominously in hindsight, Russell Brand's — Ross's feet are never far off the ground. There's a whole chapter here about dealing with his children's nits, and it's surprisingly readable.

It's hard to know whether the current storm in a teacup will help or hinder sales of this book, but I'm convinced Ross will bounce back once it's blown over. "I'm kind to small dogs and ugly children and I never try to upset anyone deliberately," he writes at one point. Quite..

Synopsis by Foyles.co.uk

Why is catalogue shopping responsible for Jonathan Ross's inimitable sense of style? Why might wearing cape and mask be a fast track to heaven? Why does Jonathan wince every time he sees a Hoover? And why did he fall in love with a deep-sea diver? Why? Because this is Jonathan Ross. And nothing is out of bounds when it comes to talking about life as he knows it. From sex and pugs to rock 'n' roll and genital warts, Jonathan holds forth as only he can. This sharply observed, laugh-out-loud, outrageous page-turner will leave you asking just one question ...Why didn't he write it sooner?