You know when you're in a bar listening to a guy tell hilarious stories, but then he has one too many pints and everything gets indescribably sad all of a sudden? Idle's chronicle of his 2003—04 bus tour across America is kinda like that. The Monty Python vet will be riffing happily along, and then out of nowhere he tells of his father's death ''Christmas by the fireside, the mother weeping, always weeping'' and no amount of pageantry can bring the laffs back. This isn't a bad thing, it's just jarring, and a little maudlin at times. Perhaps a note on the cover would have helped: ''Warning! The mirth ahead is tempered by private, personal moments and the occasional beautiful description of the American countryside. Do not be alarmed!''