"Fabulously funny book" ?! That in itself is a joke. I might have enjoyed it greatly if it hadn't been for the predictable and infantile attempt at humour which fell like a gob of old English porridge at the end of every factoid. Imagine being stuck with an incredibly square uncle, one who used to make you laugh when you were maybe three but continues with the same stupid, incessant jokes when you're thirty-three. Anglo-centric jabs and low-brow puns ("Frog's legs anyone?"), or the most inane, unclever associations ("Henry Hotspur, who sounds like a northern footballer") riddle this otherwise pedantic romp through well-known history. Full of outdated, pre-Churchill Britishisms ("the constant argie bargie between the Catholics and the Protestants"), author John Farman paints an image of himself as an ancient and bloated, untalented aristocrat who is friends with a publisher. Whether he is or not, if your like me you prefer an author's voice to be that of someone you'd enjoy talking to for the next 10 hours or so, not an irritating bore. If you want a good humorous voice as well as new insights into history, check out Richard Shenkman instead.