Let’s not get sentimental — she would not have liked that — but Florence King, the American writer and splendid reactionary, has died. It is sad because Florence was brilliant, brave and most of all funny. Her best-known work, Confessions of a Failed Southern Lady, is a tremendous book — essential reading, I’d say, for anyone who wants to understand spirited American conservatism, rather than the lobotomised crap churned out on TV or talk radio, or by Republican Party candidates. She deserves to be better known, though it is heartening today to see fans sharing her quotes on Twitter. (My favourite: ‘while watching ‘Psycho’ a single question ran through my head: “Where can I get a shower head with that kind of capacity?”’) For a sense of her character, I recommend this obituary by her friend and publisher at the National Review, Jack Fowler.
On March 4, 2015, I sat in the bedroom of my home, an old farmhouse overlooking the rolling beauty of the Vale of Belvoir, sipping tea with my partner, Terry. It was an ordinary early morning – until an unexpected knock shattered its peace. Through the glass, I saw the police. My first thought was
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