I fell for Piers

I think I have fallen victim to a cunning and captious new publishing ploy to get hopelessly vain creatures like me, who love seeing their names in print, to buy books. Let me explain.

Back in mid-April sometime I was reading a review by Lynn Barber of Piers Morgan’s new autobiography – the second in about three years – when my eye rested on my own name. My stomach did a nervous flutter. How on earth did this get here?  “One day Piers receives a phone call from Rachel Johnson (sister of Boris),” writes Lynn, “who tells him she is writing an article called “Does size matter?” They chat about it for a while, and then, blow me – what snakes these journalists are – she has the nerve to print his self-description: “Slightly above average, and with a skilled and energetic technique, will keep any woman happy.”

Naturally, the entire British press puts out a call for readers who might have views on this subject and the Independent finds one, Sally, who recalls that she named him “Mr Floppy”.