Jarvis Cocker is late. The dog walker didn’t turn up on time and he arrives at the London Library looking worried, even though he already rang to apologise. “I’m flustered,” he announces, pulling off his beanie and unwinding an elegant scarf. He’s dressed in a pleasingly autumnal palette of oranges and browns. Still skinny as a rake, salt and pepper hair uncombed, his bag full of books, the epitome of the rumpled dandy about town.
