The magazine republishing Michael Wharton´s autobiography, or at least the first volume, is not called Slightly Soiled but Slightly Foxed.
At that do I said hello to Susan, Michael´s widow, and was then introduced to some old bint who edits the Salisbury Review. She asked me where I lived. I said North Cornwall. Oh, she said, did I know Lady Penny Wilson (or something like that). No, I said, I didn´t. Her wish for any further conversation with me died there and then. I was, she decided instantly, of no consquence whatsoever. Stupid cow. But there are, unfortunately, many like her in Britain.