In which the erudite Lewis rails against the world in the most politically incorrect manner possible. Living in the “Herefordshire Balkans”, Dr Lewis uses this faux diary to settles scores with various members of the sophisticated literary London clique who won’t let him Join the Royal Lit Soc, puts the boot in to The Mail for not paying him enough for his reviews, reveals a myriad sexist insights such as Nigella Lawson’s best book would be on blow-jobs, reminds everyone he had a scholarship to a posh Oxford College, and once in while drops in a piece of lyrical critical writing peppered with original insights on some “low-brow” subject like the tragic life of Charles Hawtree or how brilliantly Jo Brand and Jo Scanlon’s Getting On portrays a slab of real life. It is basically Clarkson with a PhD.
I reckon Roger Lewis is as real as Keith Lemon. No man as curmudgeon and reactionary as the Lewis in the book, would ask hippy dippy radical Mark Rylance to be his son’s Godfather or let the same son run away to the circus with his father’s blessing.
Whether he is a real life reactionary misanthrope or not, there » Continue Reading.