Some while ago, the actor Richard E Grant found a cake tin tucked away in the west London house that, on good days, he might describe as “maximalist”, and on others might concede reveals unbridled hoarding tendencies. “Every inch of our house is rammed with stuff,” he says brightly. “I’ve got stuff everywhere.”
Grant thought the tin might contain some left-over Christmas cake. Instead, inside he found a stash of letters that his wife, the dialect coach Joan Washington, had sent to him throughout their courtship and subsequent 35-year marriage.
