The Secret Diary of Lewis Hamilton, aged 22 & three-quarters

When I was little, I used to drive go-karts but then a man called Ron came up to me and asked me if I could drive his car for him.








At first, he would only let me drive little cars, but then one day, he let me drive a really fast Mercedes car. I really enjoyed racing the big car, even if I had to work with a really nasty Spaniard who didn't like me very much and I even won a few races.

In the end, I finished second because the car broke down and then I went to live in Switzerland so that the nasty tax man can't take any of my money.

Now of course, all of that probably isn't an extract from the Lewis Hamilton: My Story - available from all good book stores and some rubbish ones as well.

Neither is it a slant at a young, British driver who has got people talking once again about a sport that had a dwindling following before he arrived on the scene.

But the point, as you might have gathered, is more a question as to how someone of 22 years of age, with just one full-season of top-class sport behind him, can possibly write a full, worthwhile autobiography?

Unfortunately, he's not alone when it comes to pointless autobiographies and with 2006 being a World Cup year, last Christmas was full of them.

Frank Lampard, Wayne Rooney, Ashley Cole, Rio Ferdinand, Steven Gerrard and Joe Cole - all players who achieved the net sum of "zero" during the 2006 tournament in Germany despite a hefty match fee were all lured by another big cheque to cram pad out their entire life story into a few hundred pages. Then Manchester City loud-mouth Joey Barton summed up my feelings perfectly:

“England did nothing in the World Cup so why were they bringing books out?” Barton asked. “ ‘We got beat in the quarter-finals. I played like s***. Here’s my book’.”

Sports autobiographies can be excellent. Lance Armstrong's series of books but, most notably, 'It's not about the Bike' is superb. Tawera Nikau, a former Castleford, Warrington and New Zealand international rugby league player who had to content with the tragic death of his wife and the loss of his right leg, wrote the eye-opening 'Standing Tall' and the likes of Tony Adams, Paul McGrath and Paul Gascoigne have all put together good books which, unfortunately, get lost in a sea of shite on the shelves of Waterstones.

Another quick search on Amazon brings up such delights as 'Russell Brand: My Booky Wooky', 'Jodie Marsh: Keeping it Real', 'Being Jordan' and 'My Autobiography' by Big Brother ignorant Jade Goody.

Honestly? Who buys this garbage?