Woman’s Hour and I were born in the same year, 1946, a vintage babyboom crop. When Woman’s Hour was twenty-five they had a special edition, and I was invited on it. When they were thirty, I was back to talk about being thirty. Now we are sixty and here is a dippable bedside book that is rather like the programme itself under Jenni Murray’s charge: brisk, unsentimental, well-informed, produced at speed.

Sep 2006

Playing God

Street Smug

Portrait of the Author

Queen of the Desert

His Family & Other Animals

Weathering the Dorm

Line Management

Down Memory Lane

Mayfair Lady

‘Crisp as a Celery Stick’

Keeping Up with the Burne-Joneses

Still Lighting Up

In Restaurants, Other Diners Applauded When He Left

Demon Barber of Fleet Street

The Voice of Everywoman

Long Wavering Radio

Cherchez Les Femmes

Not Just A Pretty Face

Et Alors?

Sign Up to our newsletter

@Lit_Review