Rupert Everett is writing a sequel to his indiscreet autobiography Red Carpets and Other Banana Skins. He tells the Radio Times - when he's not slagging off Americans as "whiny complainers" and describing them as "blobby" - that "since no one famous is talking to me any more [he revealed, for instance, that he had cock-cunted Susan Sarandon], I've had to leave famous people out of it and just write about other things in my life."
My heart sinks at this news. But then he adds, helping me to rally: "This one will be more Christopher Isherwood-y." My hope is that the emphasis will be on the wood-y rather than the Isher. Was it not Isherwood who once said of his dreaded mother: "Just think of her! Sitting in front of a fire in Kensington warming her cunt!"
If Rupie proposes to emulate old Ish (in spirit, at least) then we must look forward to the result. I wonder whether Justine Picardie will tidy it up (again).