By Spike Milligan
When I was 35–42-years old, my husband, Greg Wise, found me in a gloomy state, having researched an awful lot of gloomy subjects, including the catastrophes in Chile and El Salvador and the uglier aspects of our natures. He insisted I read Milligan's autobiographical memoirs of World War II. I put this book in because it made me laugh till I was nearly sick. It's a fantastic portrait of the culture of war and a great cure for too much information.