It's a massive coffee-table art book, with lavish images of Bowie in the Seventies from photographer Mick Rock. But the main attraction of Moonage Daydream is the text by the man himself. He's funny whether he's shopping for shoes with Cyrinda Foxe (who teaches him to wear "palm-tree'd fuck-me pumps") or sipping tea with Elton John ("We didn't exactly become pals, not really having that much in common, especially musically") or partying it up with Mick Jagger ("I have absolutely no recollections of this party at all"). The closest we'll ever get to a straight-up Bowie autobiography – but who'd ever want anything straight-up from Bowie?

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