Need I say more? This sentence essentially killed the article for me. "A fusty old patisserie in Soho" my arse!
A few months ago, I was coming out of the lavatory at Maison Bertaud, a fusty old patisserie in Soho, when I saw the familiar full-moon face of Simon Callow – actor, playwright, director, indeed all round homme de théâtre – eclipsing the window.
Of course, alarm bells should have started ringing when I read the article's subheading:
Roald Dahl's children's books are full of barely submerged misogyny, lust and violence.
Well, duh!, Will "Rip van Winkle" Self (or whatever 12-year old subeditor is responsible for this bracing display of le lieu commun). Where have you spent the last two and a half decades? Next thing you know we'll be encountering the path-breaking revelation that Alien is brimfull with Freudian undertones.
Now, who'd have guessed?