booted out of his alien-sounding Mecom media group: read here how I forecast his route map to the exit door at the hands of disconcerted colleagues. Even I shiver at my staggering psychic powers.
In all my years in the wretched trade called journalism I have never met a more miserable, mean and ghastly person than Mr Montgomery. I recall his second wife Heidi Kingstone lunching him and me at the Howard Hotel near the Temple tube many years ago, and all I can recall is his boast that he could calculate in an instant the required wordage for a given space in a newspaper layout.
I felt he'd missed his vocation as a Star Trek holographic interface in the form of a human male onboard the lost USS Voyager.