IF you'd only read the newspaper serialisations, you would have thought Frankie Dettori's autobiography was simply a tale of near death, drugs, fast cars and faster women.

In fact, such moments of controversy play only a small part in a hugely entertaining read that is a step apart from the usual breed of sports autobiographies.

Such autobiographies normally fall into two categories: sensationalised fiction that seeks to raise much-needed cash; or boring chronology only fit for use as an aid to sleep.

Thankfully, Frankie is neither. Readers are drawn in immediately as Dettori remembers the moment he almost died four years ago when a plane in which he was a passenger crashed outside Newmarket racecourse.

From there, you are hooked. Frankie may have been written with racing writer Jonathan Powell, but it's clear the diminutive jockey played a leading role.

The prose cleverly captures Dettori's public persona - a cheeky chap up for a laugh and a man irresistible to the media and punters.

Indeed, the book's easy charm allows the reader to forgive many of Dettori's early indiscretions. You really can feel his fear as he relives the moment he was caught by police with cocaine in his pocket and his pain when he nearly ended up on the racing scrap-heap after a bust-up with Italian trainer Luca Cumani.

Most of all, Frankie is a book of racing triumphs. Each of his winners, from the first race to his nine classics, are all replayed in exquisite detail, taking the reader along every furlong and every strike of the whip.

It is a chronicle of celebrity, and the fame that being a household name can bring, but it is also a book about the harsh realities of life as a jockey, from donning bin-bags for runs to lose weight to drinking water and spending days asleep to stave off hunger pangs.

Frankie is fascinating and a superb account of one of Britain's best-loved sporting characters.

Updated: 08:45 Wednesday, October 06, 2004