On the hottest day of the year, St Pancras station would not have been my first choice for lunch, but it turned out to be, quite literally, the coolest of venues. I was meeting my brother (not Jeremy, as is often assumed, but Ben), over from Spain to attend the launch of a book I’ve written, How Not to Be a Political Wife. Even Ben was struggling with the heat, and when London is hotter than Madrid, you know something’s up. Anyway, he was heading to Stansted, I to Corby, so it seemed like the logical place. We found a table at Booking Office 1869, cool and dark beneath huge, vaulted ceilings. The food was surprisingly good: light, whipped smoked cod roe, cured Loch Duart salmon, miso-glazed aubergine, hot salty chips. The quality of service and victuals felt decidedly un-21st-century and certainly not the kind of thing you expect to find in a station.
My companion on the train to Corby was Andrew Pierce, Daily Mail colleague, political imp, GB News presenter and general mischief-maker. He and I were to be a double act at the Nevill Holt Festival, David Ross’s (of Carphone Warehouse) annual opera and arts extravaganza, held in the grounds of his dreamy stately, set amid the rolling Leicester hills. Think Bayreuth, but without the uncomfortable benches and weird Germans. As we drove through the glorious countryside, I was already checking Rightmove. Andrew was more taken with what appeared to be the infamous Ed Stone from the 2015 general election, propped up against the chapel in the grounds. I’ve not seen him this excited since Abba announced their comeback.
The talk at Nevill Holt was great fun and the audience appreciative (by which I mean they laughed at my rather lame jokes) and full of intelligent questions. It turns out that the general public is endlessly more civilised than Twitter/X would have one believe. On the way back, giddy with our success (Andrew had also been signing copies of his memoir, Finding Margaret, about his search for his birth mother), we upgraded to first class and celebrated with rather too many cans of complimentary white wine and free pretzels.
I’ve never done a book talk before, nor have I hosted a book launch. The latter was held at Hatchard’s in Piccadilly, surely a contender for the title of Most Beautiful Bookshop in the World. The aroma of printed paper as you enter is intoxicating: they should bottle and sell it. Despite several ‘rival’ parties taking place that night – principally Rupert and Lachlan Murdoch’s – and the stifling heat, I was surprised and touched to find the room packed with an eclectic group of well-wishers, everyone from old friends and colleagues to Kemi Badenoch, Kirstie Allsopp, Nadine Dorries, Jeremy Vine, a smattering of Baronesses, assorted Lords – and someone called Piers Morgan who, you may be interested to know, has written a book called Woke Is Dead, out later in the year. He’s very shy, you see, so I thought I would mention it on his behalf.
My own modest tome seems to have annoyed quite a few people, not least Sasha Swire and Simon Heffer, who have both been entertainingly rude about my efforts. But that’s fine: it’s a free country and they are entitled to their opinions. The main criticism seems to be that I’ve been too emotional, which is probably fair. Then again, what is the point in writing a memoir if you’re not going to be honest? The good thing is that it seems to have struck a chord with many others, not least the former health secretary Jeremy Hunt, who said, rather mournfully, that it was a salutary read for ‘those of us in the game’.
The most touching moment of the night came at the very end, after all the superstars had departed and the catering staff were loading the empty glasses into their van. I was waiting for an Uber with my kids when the gentleman from Spinnakers (the caterers, very good, would recommend) asked if I would pose for a photograph with his adorable eight-year-old daughter, who was a huge fan of a book I co-wrote years ago, back in 2008, called The Great Big Glorious Book For Girls. There was not a dry eye in the cab home.
I’m looking forward to my next event, which as it happens is a Spectator one, alongside Rachel Johnson, Hugo Swire (husband of Sasha) and one Michael Gove, editor of this parish, ex-husband of yours truly. The theme is ‘political families’. It promises to be a lively one.
Join Sarah Vine with Michael Gove, Rachel Johnson and Hugo Swire as they discuss the losses and laughter involved in being married to politics. Book now.
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