Fiona Onasanya at the Old Bailey

But to say her 121 page self-pitying, exclamation-filled new book entitled ‘Snakes and Adders’ is a let down would be like remarking that Liverpool are having a reasonable Premier League season.

After spending a good hour poring through text which appears to have been written by a primary school pupil - filled with grammatical errors and childlike language - it becomes increasingly difficult to remind yourself that the author was until recently a solicitor and high-flying politician who was quickly rising through the Labour Party as the MP for Peterborough.

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At least, that was before she decided to lie to police about speeding points and ended her career in circumstances which continue to mystify, and which sadly are never addressed.

So if you are looking for insight or a credible reason why the Old Bailey jury made a mistake in convicting the former MP - who was later booted out by her constituents through a recall petition - you will be sorely disappointed reading Snakes and Adders (the venomous creatures are, incidentally, “constituents and comrades” who share her views but have gone against her).

As the foreword to the book from Bishop Wayne Malcolm makes clear, the decision to jail Ms Onasanya for perverting the course of justice had to have been racially motivated. Case closed!

Not to mention that the judge apparently believed her story, that her brother had coughed to the crime meaning she was innocent, and that the CPS were told not to proceed with the charge but did so anyway.

So now that we’ve cleared that up, what else is there to savour?

The book begins with how Ms Onasanya gets into politics after being overheard discussing the 2011 riots in a pub and ends with her time in a Category A prison alongside some of the most hardened criminals in society.

To describe it as a whistle-stop tour would be to do it an injustice.

Sadly, for someone who has experienced so much in the past three years we learn nothing about her time as an MP, why she failed to answer thousands of emails from her constituents or how she fitted in those 120 hour working weeks (not including travel) that she once claimed to have endured.

Instead, we are treated to nuggets such as how she felt after being rejected by Labour as a council candidate, only to be reassured by the selection committee that it was “sure you will go far”.

Her reaction? “I can’t believe they thought I would go far - little old me! This is crazy! What had they seen in me?!”

Those who have met Ms Onasanya speak warmly of her, and in person she has endearing qualities. But reading through her book the overriding emotion is disbelief.

How could someone who needed to read up about what responsibilities a council had, who had no idea what an election agent did, and who had never heard of canvassing, become deputy leader of a Labour council group, second choice in a party mayoral contest, and then win at a General Election, in just a few years?

Sadly, we don’t find out, although we do learn that one time someone at a meeting was surprised she refused a hot drink, but instead helped herself “to a biccy (or two!).”

So is there anything to take away from this book? To summarise:

We learn Ms Onasanya accidentally printed off election leaflets with her personal number on it, prompting a mixture of comforting and creepy messages being sent to her.

We learn that she quit as a councillor to focus on her career, than applied for every political role going.

We learn that she took up a new job but never started it after becoming an MP while serving her notice period at her then employers.

We learn that legal fees have so far cost her £50,000.

We learn that she hates the media (although we kind of already knew that).

We learn she felt Labour’s central team apparently offered no help during the General Election (despite Jeremy Corbyn conducting a visit alongside her).

We learn that in prison she mistook spice the drug for actual spices, and security company G4S with the slang ‘Gay 4 the Stay’.

And we learn that she thinks the Showground is in Stanground, which to Peterborough folk is probably the clincher. Although we remain none the wiser as to the rumour that she didn’t know where Central Park was.

What we don’t learn is why she remained silent when questioned by police, why she hired a spokesman then failed to tell him he she had been charged with a crime which could see her jailed, how her diagnosis of Multiple Sclerosis has affected her, or indeed anything which would make this book genuinely insightful.

Instead, all we get is her complaining about being given spaghetti hoops and non-almond milk in prison, a stretch that lasted four weeks but is made to sound like four years.

There are no apologies to her constituents or staff, there is no admittance that she dragged out her time as an MP to take home her salary, and there is no justification for flogging her book through Amazon after spending her brief period in the Commons condemning the company.