Across the table from me, Tony Robinson’s eyes are brimming with what look like tears. I’ve just asked him about the time five chapters of his book were stolen from his car while he was on holiday, and the memory is clearly still raw. It must have been a hell of a manuscript, I think. But that’s not the whole story.
“During lockdown, my wife Louise and I got a dog called Holly Berry, whom we loved very much,” he says. “Loved particularly hard because she had been a poorly old thing. It was wonderful bringing a rescue dog back to life. It’s been one of the joys I’ve discovered only over the last few years. But she had diabetes, so I had to inject her at six o’clock every morning and six o’clock in the evening.”
