Nicholas Coleridge - one of the world's worst novelists but near-supreme ruler of Condé Nast - discusses his favourite books. These are of little interest set against his pronunciation of aer-o-planes, the revelation of his three-hour baths (topped up by endless. hot. water.) and the sight of his curious head-shakes when he puts on a Nigella Lawson-type crazy smile about one minute in onwards.