At My Mother’s Knee ….. and other low joints

Reviewed by Lucy Forde


I like Paul O’Grady, his acerbic wit, anarchic attitude and who gives a monkey’s attitude, appeal to me, so when I found his autobiography on a book stall I couldn’t resist – I haven’t regretted it for one single page.

Like him or loath him you surely can’t fail to admire his candour if you read this book. It tells of his childhood growing up in Liverpool; the baby of the family – “the last kick of a dying horse” as he says in his own words, “an unexpected bonus or a curse depending on how well disposed toward me my ma was feeling that day”. His initial exploration and possibility of being a ‘homo’, told in a humorous but touching way; his acting debut – for the record – a sheep in the nativity; his first attempt at burlesque – the unlikely setting of communion and the vision of a young O’Grady mincing about on the chancel steps had me in tears laughing.

He starts off his book discussing his mother’s false teeth, and why wouldn’t you? His recollections hop about from his birth to nearly his first sexual experience in the same hospital at the age of eleven when delivering papers.

From the beginning it is obvious where he got ‘Lily’ from, she is an amalgamation of his auntie Chris, their next door neighbour Rose Long, a bit of his mum, Lily’s surname is actually Paul’s mother’s maiden name and the final ingredient – Scouse humour, a force to be reckoned with. Even before ‘Lily’ is mentioned you sense her jumping off the page at you with almost every chapter.

His description of all the people in his life ensures that you don’t need a photo to be able to ‘see’ them; such is his ability to bring his friends and family to life you almost feel that should you meet them in Higher Tranmere, Birkenhead you would recognise them immediately and begin chatting as though you had known them forever.

Throughout the book I found myself agreeing out loud with what he’d written, his disdain of nouvelle cuisine had me punching the air; “Why go to the bother of cutting carrots into ridiculously thin slivers, calling them ‘julienne’ and then dishing them up balanced one on top of the other so that they look like a pile of loosely stacked miniature deckchairs? Is there something shameful about a carrot that I don’t know about? Are they so socially unacceptable in smart restaurants that they have to undergo drastic surgery before they can be presented at the table?”

The joy of this book is that it is written in exactly the way that Paul O’Grady talks, when reading it I felt that I was curled up the other end of the sofa to him just listening to him over a cup of tea. If another reminiscence pops into his mind, regardless of the relevance to the ongoing anecdote, he ‘tells it’ – no rhyme or reason but it works.

I haven’t read anything with as much feel good factor as this book and can’t wait to get hold of ‘The Devil Rides Out’, his next missive – not so much an autobiography in the true sense of the word, more a recollection of his life in the order that he remembers it!