PUNK AND NEW WAVE are to blame. A large thwack of the cultural diktat was the sovereignty of understatement.

The music might have been loud and spiky but the personality was supposed to be subsumed within a greater artistic whole. So, unlike their predecessors of the 1970s who indulged themselves and their art form merrily, postpunk pundits have progressed gawkily, peering from behind a metaphorical fringe. Andrew Collins is perhaps most typical; his title and sub-title sum up the predicament.

Along with his fellow travellers – Paul Morley, Stuart Maconie, Steve Lamacq and Mark Radcliffe, to name but four – he has moved through dream jobs (editor of Q, script-writer for EastEnders) and dream encounters (Johnny Depp, Tom Hanks, Woody Allen) with hands firmly fastened to the handrail of “ordinariness”. It is a theme he has panned across three books, each framing a life lived with foot ever ready to apply the brake, should the etiquette of just-got-lucky dilettante be breached: self-deprecation at all times, no succumbing to “grown-upness” and, most of all, remember your roots, lad.

The premise has proved marketable but the greater force, especially here, is not the apologetic “how-did-I get here?” shoe shuffling but the sheer zest for life. Collins is a man (yes, a man: not a boy) who takes risks, has a go, does his best. He gets up early, goes to bed late and in between presents radio shows, contributes to magazines and newspapers, scripts sitcoms and writes memoirs. He also appears in Doctor Who and invents Brit-pop – or at least spots it before anyone else.

At times That’s Me in the Corner is a punchy self-help book for aspiring journalists: celebrities require ample but subtle flattery; research thoroughly; and should you make it to radio, talk slowly if you want to make more sense. He hands out these gilded tips generously, meticulously relating the workings of the media.

He infers that it is a life open to any “can-do” person but this is to underplay the immense graft and application required, not to mention the wit and imagination that sees Christina Ricci described as having the handshake “of a clingfilm parcel of apple puree” or the withering put-down of the Black Rebel Motorcycle Club: “ungrateful, monosyllabic, shoe-inspecting berks.”

He gives only tantalising glimpses of his relationship with his former sidekick, Maconie. He admits to professional jealously, however, at Maconie’s more highbrow status. He is peeved when he is not invited back to Newsnight Review after one appearance. These snapshots of vulnerability are fascinating, much like the wider question of why he is so driven and restless.

I hope that there will be other less self-aware books from Collins, perhaps where he emulates one of his heroes, Raymond Carver, and tell us the story of his insecurity and ambition more slowly, more reflectively. It is within his talent.

That's Me in the Corner: Adventures of an Ordinary Boy in a Celebrity World by Andrew Collins

Ebury, £10.99; 336pp

Buy the book here at the offer price of £9.89 (free p&p) timesonline.co.uk/booksfirst

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