How Shall I Tell The Dog? - Tapa dura

In other hads this could easily have become maudlin; but Kington rigorously eschews self-pity and there is no dying fall, no sense of despair at his fading physical powers. The last letter is among the sprightliest ... This is a witty and quirky memorial to a witty and quirky writer, greatly missed. (Michael Leapman Country Life 2008-12-10)

Miles Kington, the much-loved humorist, musician and broadcaster, died of cancer in January 2008. This series of letters from him to his literary agent - ostensibly proposing a stream of increasingly absurd ideas for books he might write about his illness, but in reality simply a brilliant vehicle for his characteristic humour - shows this inventive and very English writer at the height of his craft. And as he confronts his fate with understated but unflinching courage ('what's the point of just writing it down as life? Any writer worth his salt improves the story until it is worth telling'), Kington's mischievous wit never falters: 'I'm afraid this wasn't an idea for a book after all, only an idea on how to spend the royalties...' Wry, poignant and deeply moving, these letters are above all very, very funny. Every word is vintage Kington.