Jeremy Paxman

I embarked upon my new book, On Royalty, because, as a republican, I was genuinely baffled by the devotion monarchies seem to inspire. Yet the more I looked into it, the less there seemed to be to the republican cause: monarchy may be antique and democratically indefensible, but it becomes hard to see what would be gained by destroying it. What I had failed properly to clock, though, is the extent of personal dislike for Prince Charles. The Great Boiled Egg Controversy â” a matter which occupies an entire three sentences of the book, and which I described as ‘so preposterously extravagant as to be unbelievable’ â” only took off because it seemed to fit preconceptions that he is spoilt and peevish.

This diary is what happens if the editor fails to get a lobotomy. I had rung him to ask whether he’d like to grace Newsnight and the nation with his views on the affair between the former home secretary and the publisher of this journal. His response, verbatim, was: ‘Er, cripes. I think I’d need a prefrontal lobotomy before I did that,’ followed by, ‘You wouldn’t do a diary for us, would you, old boy?’ For those of us who do not have access to The Spectator’s water-cooler and whatever it contains, this is akin to being invited to appear on Trisha. But, as it happens, I had a bit of time on my hands over the holidays, since being dropped from the New Year edition of Woman’s Hour.

I am in the midst of a tour promoting a book, The Political Animal. Like all journeys in this country, it is almost impossible to travel anywhere with any confidence that you will arrive within a day of your anticipated time. A trip to Norfolk, which ought to have taken three hours, lasted five. The return journey, involving jams on the M11, closure of the M25 and so on, took five and a half. Complaints about the ludicrous state of the British transport system have become so commonplace that we all just ignore them. 'It took me two hours to get through the Dartford Tunnel.' 'I travelled five miles on the M6 in an hour and a half,' they go on. The trouble (and reassurance) is that the British are a people with very low expectations in almost everything.