Do women love Russell Brand? Or do they simply envy his ability to team pear-shaped hips with leather trousers and still come off as a sex symbol?
Whatever the truth behind the man once dubbed the "world's sexiest vegetarian" by animal rights charity PETA, his autobiography, out this week, promises a rollicking voyage through his numerous sackings, drug addiction, bulimia, and a childhood that saw him hiring prostitutes with his photographer father while taking a whirlwind tour of the Far East (no kidding).
With an upbringing like that, it's no surprise that he became theleather-clad knicker-loosener we know today. But despite his brash image (Brand was, lest we forget, The Sun's 2006 Shagger of the Year), he has grown into a charming and self-deprecating stand-up who shouldn't be entirely blamed for his irksome tabloid profile.
Describing his life as a "series of embarrassing incidents strung together by telling people about those embarrassing incidents" and his look as "SM Willy Wonka", he can't be accused of lacking self-knowledge. His tome, My Booky Wook, promises to be far more entertaining than the glut of sycophantic unauthorised biogs out there. It's got a good name to boot. So there.
My Booky Wook by Russell Brand (Hodder and Stoughton, pound;18.99).