Still don’t believe blondes have more fun? After reading this rollicking memoir you’ll wish you had dyed your barnet, joined a rock’n’roll band and dated a string of beautiful women (most of them, coincidentally, blonde as well).
Stewart's new album, Time, his first self-penned album in 20 years, recently went to number one, so now's as good a time as any to catch up on his life and loves (women, music, football, not necessarily in that order).
Stewart spins his yarn with the easygoing style of a street hustler: his apprenticeship in the 1960s London blues scene, singing with Long John Baldry and The Jeff Beck Group; balancing a successful solo career with his job fronting The Faces in the 1970s; the megastar excesses (he and Ronnie Wood were early aficionados of the "cocaine suppository"); his thyroid-cancer scare of the early 2000s; his resurgence as a gritty interpreter of American standards; and, finally, winning his battle against writer's block.
Plus, of course, lots and lots of women, including his former loves Alana Hamilton, Britt Ekland, Kelly Emberg and Rachel Hunter, and his current wife, Penny Lancaster.
There’s an entire chapter devoted to his hair, another to his love of cars and even one to his obsession with model railways.
What a geezer.
