I was never alone except in the toilet, where I soon found that locking myself into a cubicle was not much protection from hearing myself talked about by young men standing at urinals. (“Jesus, he’s looking rough.” “And it’s only Monday.”)

Reviews for Clive James’s fourth volume of memoirs, North Face of Soho, included several that specifically requested a further volume; Clive James duly obliged and here, in all its glory, is ‘Unreliable Memoirs V’, otherwise known as The Blaze of Obscurity.

Perhaps his most brilliant memoir, The Blaze of Obscurity tells the inside story of his years in television: it shows Clive James on top form.

‘In the case of many people who attempt an autobiography even a single volume is one too many . . . In the case of Clive James, the volumes now in existence are too few. If the final tally puts him up there with Marcel Proust, so much the better.’ – Financial Times.