Several years ago, I paid a friend to read a boring book about British television so I could pretend to my Channel 4 bosses that, as head of news and current affairs, I had done so. I bought her a slap-up meal, from my own pocket, in recompense. Her job was to report back to me on any points of interest. There were none.
I am for you, dear readers, that friend who reads a poor book about television on your behalf so you can pretend at dinner parties that you have read it.
