The Spectator, February 7th, 2004
Low life
During the Queen's speech last Christmas Day the dazzlingly beautiful, inarticulate little girl who was acting as Father Christmas presented me with a parcel from under the tree. Keeping one eye on Her Majesty, I unwrapped it. It was a paperback. I glanced at the blurb on the back, opened it, started to read and became so engrossed that I sat there like a gargoyle until I'd finished it and the fire had gone out and everyone had gone to bed.
I'd heard about this book because friends in London had been reading out chapters to me over the phone. I would have nipped into town straight a...
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