Getting to the bottom of John

The first time I came across John Mortimer was while I was working as a gossip columnist. I had for some reason or another to telephone him in search of a quote, and did what dozens of my kind had done before, and dozens have done since. The telephone was answered by an elderly lady’s high, reedy voice. ‘Good afternoon, Lady Mortimer. I am sorry to trouble you. Is Sir John available?’ The voice, slightly peeved, fluted back: ‘This is John.’

Poor old John Mortimer —- this happens to him, as I understand it, all the time. I dare say it happens too, occasionally, to his second wife Penny, who speaks in a tobacco-seasoned growl. But his face never goes unrecognised: owlishly bespectacled, snaggle-toothed, wet-lipped, friendly, crowned with raffishly long white hair and, now he’s in a wheelchair, at waist height. Everyone recognises him and everyone loves him.

Valerie Grove’s book is the story of an entertaining and productive writer, a top- flight conversationalist, a kindly host and father and a serially faithless husband.