William Boyd on the last days of the creator of James Bond. "Fleming carried on disobeying doctor’s orders for another ten months, enduring ever-increasing ill-health. In his drawn out demise Fleming managed to sum up much of the character of his life: contrary, foolhardy, perverse and — somehow — very English. He was looking forward to dying and didn’t see why, until that moment arrived, he should be denied his booze, cigarettes and games of golf." [more]

I must be out of sympathy with my roughage chomping times because this seems much closer to nobility than to sadness to me.

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