The last rendezvous I had with Martin Amis was in the summer of 2014. We had met several times over the years and he was always stimulating company. I once asked him what he might do should he give up writing novels. “I could do your job, I suppose,” he said, which was undoubtedly true. On another occasion my wife and I had supper with him in an Edinburgh restaurant. He arrived late and rather well-lubricated from a book signing and proceeded to entertain us and other diners with his eerily accurate and hilarious impressions of Melvyn Bragg, Philip Larkin and Clive James.
Amis and Auschwitz
Amis and Auschwitz
Amis and Auschwitz
The last rendezvous I had with Martin Amis was in the summer of 2014. We had met several times over the years and he was always stimulating company. I once asked him what he might do should he give up writing novels. “I could do your job, I suppose,” he said, which was undoubtedly true. On another occasion my wife and I had supper with him in an Edinburgh restaurant. He arrived late and rather well-lubricated from a book signing and proceeded to entertain us and other diners with his eerily accurate and hilarious impressions of Melvyn Bragg, Philip Larkin and Clive James.