When the heart attack comes, and it will, pin the blame on lunches like this one. Mind you, I’d had fair warning, having seen Tom Parker Bowles the night before at a charity bash. “Leave at four, or you’re dead,” he said. “But it only kicks off at noon,” I protested. He shook his head solemnly.
OPINION – My wild nine-hour lunch at Britain’s most Right-wing journalism awards
