Former foreign affairs minister Bob Carr lifts the veil on arguably the most towering - and eccentric - ego in Australian politics in his new book, boldly declaring after attending a meeting of world leaders that he ''cannot feel humble''.

Laying out his peculiarities and peccadilloes, and the "diva" demands that exasperated his bureaucrats, Carr's Diary of a Foreign Minister is a tour-de-force of details about his fanatical exercise regime and obsessive high protein, low sugar diet.

It's also not shy in conveying the author's self-regard and appetite for self-mockery.

The diary ends, as did Carr's stint as foreign affairs minister, at the G20 leaders' meeting in Moscow in the week of the September 2013 federal election, where he is seated next to Vladimir Putin and looks across to Barack Obama.

Reflecting on his stature among world leaders, Carr recalls the words of the late novelist Gore Vidal: "I cannot feel humble. Interested, curious, of course. Just not humble.’’

He also gained exquisite pleasure from chairing a successful meeting (‘‘I’m the best chairman I know’’); wearing Hermes ties; spinning through numerous media interviews (‘‘I have more energy than 16 gladiators’’), and from projecting his ‘‘masterly’’ baritone voice (‘‘I am Foreign Minister ... I soar above the mundane and serve my country’’).

Carr alludes to the Senate scrutiny and media reports of his extravagant travel bill and demands for exotic foodstuffs.

But he is unapologetic, and the diary records the eccentricities incessantly, in between details of intelligence briefings, cabinet meetings and inside accounts of global gatherings of the world’s leaders.

He even publishes a letter from the Singapore Airlines regional vice president, responding to complaints he made about the quality of the inflight entertainment.

‘‘Please accept my sincere apology if any part of our First Class inflight offering fell below your expectations,’’ the official wrote.

‘‘Specifically, I have taken note of the lack of English subtitles for the Wagner opera Siegfried.’’

Carr is scathing of business class. ‘‘No edible food. No airline pyjamas ... I lie in my tailored suit.’’

Even upgrades to first class were demeaning. It was ‘‘pathetic that the public service rules reduce me to that, an upgrade for a middle-power foreign minister’’, he writes.

Meditation and sleeping pills help him cope with the jetlag, and unexpected exhilaration.

Feeling so overjoyed when Henry Kissinger invited him to the exclusive millionaires’ retreat Bohemian Grove, Carr confesses he ‘‘popped two Normison [sleeping tablets] to smother the excitement’’.

He notes his favourite exercise is the ‘‘wonderful one-legged Romanian deadlift’’.

‘‘My ambition,’’ Mr Carr writes during a trip to Cairo, ‘‘[is] to have a concave abdomen defined by deep-cut obliques.’’

Mr Carr repeatedly remarks on  ‘‘the elite of the flat-stomached’’, whose members include Barack Obama, CIA boss David Petraeus and Prince Charles.

However, sometimes his minions go too far to accommodate him.

‘‘Every meal, the Foreign Minister is served bland steamed white fish. This apparently reflects a Fuhrer-directive that I had the department send out about my diet. But whoever drafted it overshot the mark. I want turkey, I want grass-fed beef ... This is the new Fuhrer-directive.’’