If ever there was a maverick footballer, it had to be Stan Bowles. Stanley's life and footballing career could probably fill ten books, but this one has to suffice and it isn't a bad effort. Ghost written by Ralph Allen and John Iona, with a little help from Stan himself, this book gives a fairly thorough treatment to Bowles' long and varied career, which had more ups and downs than a Grand National. The production values could probably have been higher, but the stories and photographs contained within its 195 pages give it quite a depth.

The chapter which chronicles Stan's time in Carlisle is entitled "Ice Cold in Cumbria". This alludes to Stan's description of the winter of 1971-72 as spent in the rough streets of Carlisle. In fact, our Stan bought a house in the swanky suburb of Lowry Hill, not that far from where I moved with my family a few months after he came north, so I can vouch that he must have been in for quite a culture shock:

I have a lot of memories of Carlisle - some good, some not so good. It was certainly no place to be skint in the winter! The snow piled up to six feet high in places for two or three weeks at a time. The only way we could train was by playing five-a-side in the local gymnasium. It was pointless trying to clear the snow because as soon as you did, it all came down again. I eventually realised why my neighbours used to come home with van loads of groceries: they knew that they wouldn't be able to get out of their front doors for weeks on end. I couldn't find anyone to talk to after 10 o'clock in the evening. In the winter, it was as if the entire population had gone into hibernation.

One thing you could never accuse Stan of missing out on was the chance to exaggerate. Snow six feet high? It must have been the worse winter in living memory!

Of course, Stan's most abiding passion off the pitch was gambling. It was once said famously of Stan that if he could pass a betting shop like he could pass a football, he'd have been a world-beater. Well, there were quite a few bookies in Carlisle, and Stan very rarely managed to pass by any of them! He goes on to describe one of many funny stories that centre around his love of the horses, this time involving his great mate, known only as 'Carlisle Peter':

Another time the two of us are in a pub one afternoon, desperate for a bet - but we haven't got a penny. So, Pete blags a cheque for fifty quid off this bird who's got a bit of a soft spot for him. We leg it off to the bank to cash it, before she gets the chance to change her mind; unfortunately, while we're queuing up to collect the readies, she strolls in and does exactly that.

She says to Pete: "Listen, if you want the cheque, come down to my flat at four o'clock and I'll give it to you then." We're thinking: 'she wants to give him more than a cheque' - and we were right. So, down we go to her flat at four that afternoon, but she won't let me in. I'm outside, pacing up and down, worrying about what's going on in there and thinking about who to back with my half of the money.

Inside, according to Pete, she said: "Don't I get anything for this cheque, then?"

"What do you mean, like?" asks Pete.

"You know what I mean."

And he did.

She writes the date on the top of the cheque - and then they go to bed. After that she writes the amount. Then she says: "If you want me to sign it, you'll have to do it again."

And Pete lay back and thought of gee-gees.

Of course, the next day we lost it all!

Stan made a big impression at Carlisle. He stayed for less than a year but in that time he had impressed enough people to earn a chance at a bigger club. In September 1972, Queen's Park Rangers signed him for a then club-record fee of £110,000. Stan had been on just £45 a week at Brunton Park. Within two years he was playing for England. He was that kind of player - hugely skillful with a whole tool bag full of tricks. Unfortunately his lackadaisical approach to life let him down. Stan was a pretty honest lad but he often missed training by sleeping in and once almost missed the start of a match because he was down the bookies.

The book describes the other side of Stan, that of family man. He endured two broken marriages and his health failed after giving up the game. Stan liked a drink or three and his fortune (such that it was) was always going to be wasted away on the horses. By the end of the story, Stan has calmed down a bit and seems a more contented man. His is a genuinely funny story and his relationship with the QPR player Don Shanks is a rib-tickler from start to finish. Of course, large chunks of this may have been figments of Stan's imagination - he certainly spent enough time sleeping to have dreamt them up - but it does make for a highly entertaining read. Compared to many footballer's autobiographies, this is above par. Stan was an entertainer - a one-off. They don't make them like him any more.

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