As far as American audiences are concerned, Sandy Wilson, the author of the musical comedy, The Boy Friend, is completely unknown. Therefore what little interest there is in this autobiography lies in the author's view of the '20s which inspired the nostalgic musical. Actually Wilson saw little of the period, since he was born in 1924--during his parents' middle years and their rapidly fading fortunes. He tells of his early schooling--Harrow, the war years, Oxford, little theatre ventures and the B.F.--and one wonders why it's all so beastly dull. Possibly because Wilson is the kind of autobiographer who piles up minutiae without much emotional involvement (""The next day, after fitting in a matinee. . . of Shall We Dance? I was driven back to school. . . . We were greeted by surprise by the butler; we were a day early. I jumped into the car, and we drove back to town. . . arriving in time to catch Charles Laughton in Rembrandt. . . ."" and so to sleep). The book rallies twice--once during a meeting with Noel Coward (who commented as he viewed himself in underpants: ""Looking even more like an aging Chinese madam than usual"") and again when complaining about the mistreatment accorded The Boy Mend on Broadway and in the films. For American readers, a waste of time.