England captains on order

The publication of a book by Willie Donaldson is always a cause for celebration, for he is a comic master in a number of forms.

First, there are his autobiographical novels (including Is This Allowed?) and his novel autobiography (From Winchester to This). Second, there are his toilet books. This once lucrative, albeit somewhat maligned, genre has fallen into a state of disrepair, but even if it were revived it is unlikely anyone will ever top Henry Root's World of Knowledge. Third, there are his 'epistolary japes', which include books by Henry Root, wet-fish salesman, and Liz Reed, grab-it-all independent television producer. The former highlighted the pomposity of politicians and other crowd-pleasers. The latter emphasised the insanity of television executives. Donaldson's genius was to write letters that appeared absurd to the public but run-of-the-mill to those in power to whom they were addressed. The recipients duly replied, unaware, perhaps inevitably given their humourlessness, that the joke was on them. The gulled, for example Dawn Airey (Girton, Channel 5, Sky), have prospered, the ability to take everything at face value being a prerequisite for the modern telly executive. The guller has been quiet for a few years. But now with Brewer's Rogues, Villains & Eccentrics (Cassell, £20) Donaldson has combined his many talents to compile a magnificently funny series of pen portraits of unfortunate and/or unhinged Britons.

Among whom might be counted: 'Carlton Sydney (1949-), painter and decorator. Those who argue that bestiality should be treated with understanding had a setback in 1998 when Carlton, a married man from Bradford, was sentenced to a year in prison for having intercourse with a Staffordshire bull terrier, named Badger. His defence was that Badger had made the first move. "I can't help it if the dog took a liking to me," he told the court. This was not accepted.'

One of the many delights of the book is its refreshing cross-referencing system. For instance, one cannot read 'English, stupidity of the. See Wintle, Lieutenant Colonel AD, and passim .' without turning briskly to 'Wintle, Lieutenant Colonel AD (1892-1958), soldier and parliamentary candidate. He was extremely upset when the Armistice was signed and wrote in his diary, "19th November: Great War Peace signed. 20th November: Wintle declares war on Germany".' Inevitably, given the compass of the book, there are more than a few sportsmen. Including, naturally, WG Grace, Douglas Jardine and 'Oakeley, Sir Atholl (1900-1987), soldier, impresario and freestyle wrestler. Although he was only 5ft 9in tall, he managed to build up his body by drinking 11 pints of milk a day for three years. This diet had been recommended to him in an exchange of letters with the famous wrestling champion, George Hackenschmidt. Hackenschmidt later told him that the quantity of milk prescribed had been a misprint. The correct amount was one pint a day.'

Also worthy of note are Francis Trumper, who with his sheepdog, Cooper, challenged "two gentlemen of Middlesex" to a game of cricket, and defeated them. Cooper was a poor batsman, as was to be expected, but the day was won by his agility in the field. Trumper and Cooper batted first and made 31, with the dog scoring only 3.'

And the youngest entrant in the book: 'Beckham, Brooklyn (1999-), celebrity toddler... suffers from obsessive-compulsive disorder. According to his mother, Brooklyn becomes fretful unless all his toys are lined up in the right order. A spokesman for the charity Obsessive Action said that Brooklyn might have inherited the disorder from his father, who is similarly afflicted. David Beckham becomes fractious unless everything in the fridge is in its place and each piece of furniture on its correct spot. "David is so from another planet!" said his wife, Victoria. "We've got three fridges - food is in one, salad in another and drinks in the other. In the drinks one everything is symmetrical. If there's one extra can of Diet Coke, David will put it away in the cupboard so it doesn't look out of place. It has to be an even number. I mean, what is he like?"'

Leaving aside the fact that the Beckhams have a fridge exclusively for salad, which doesn't cut it as food, it is also notable that the behaviour of the Beckham males is startlingly similar to that of Paul Gascoigne. He was so obsessively-compulsively disordered that he was incapable of going to the pub unless all his towels were properly arrayed.

Which coincidence raises an interesting child-rearing point. Traditionally parents anxious to make a living by turning their progeny into professional footballers have concentrated on kicking balls at them and pressing for their inclusion in the local five-a-side outfit. This may be misguided. The example of the two, for the sake of argument, most talented footballers of their generation suggests the emphasis should be redirected from what they are capable of on the park to how they measure up in the fridge and airing cupboard. Give me a child who can order his possessions by seven and I'll give you an England playmaker.