There are Doherty’s first experiences with crack cocaine and heroin during the much-mythologised early days of the band, when they’d play tiny, unruly gigs in basements, squats and the brothel where they lived in north London – all always described as “the Albion Rooms”. I'm sure part of the problem is if so much of one's life revolves around running off to take drugs and passing out, then there's not that much to say.

and an addict) and loved gaining a deeper insight into his genius/sources of inspiration, and learning the real timeline of events of his life. As the singer notes in the foreword, he’d been clean of drugs for more than a year when they began the process and he’s a lucid, honest presence, admitting at one stage part of him had wanted to be “the most fucked-up person in the world”.It sounds like he has the love of a very good woman on his side, and he's managed to find a way to access his creativity without the need for substances. I’d see his silhouette at the window, and he’d do little claw signs with his hands… I had about six in the end… I didn’t really know how to cook ’em. It is a interesting read but you really wanted more in his later years when his off the drugs and with the hotel and how he wasn't paid for gigs so he could be the 6th owner.

It felt like a very literal recount of Pete's life, with a rather flat style, that didn't really convey the wonderful poetry of Pete's lyrics and outstanding songwriting. In addition, he has mentioned in an article for The Guardian that the best stories were missed because several people's lawyers did not approve of the stories being leaked. There are eccentric, shady characters, altercations with celebrities, tabloid dramas, and, of course, copious quantities of hard drugs. And I think with Doherty, it really was - on some level - a conscious choice to choose that path, court oblivion and invite the devil into his life. Drugs naturally feature quite prominently in this biography, but Doherty never seems to glorify or glamorize them; quite the opposite in fact.In the main he offers a fairly unvarnished recounting of his life, and if some of the exploits are carnivalesque, his narration, at least, is free from self-pity. Peter Doherty: A Likely Lad certainly markets itself as such a product: a “rock memoir like no other” from an artist “immersed… in books and poetry”. Four years later, film-maker Robin Whitehead died of a suspected heroin overdose in the flat where she had been filming Doherty and Wolfman.