The boys, in my year at school, had exceptionally different careers
In one of those regular affronts to decency that define this apology for a column, I wish to abuse this space today with a direct appeal to literary agents seeking a sub-sub-sub-sub-sub Jeffery Archer opus. And yes, of course I’m aware that the above constitutes the most outlandish fleet of subs since the Swiss navy dispatched a flotilla to the bed of Lake Geneva. Yet the novel in mind – working title: Two Boys Named Chris – could yet make his lordship’s oeuvre look worthy of the Nobel. The plot relies less on imagination than historical fact. In my year at school, in the same house as one another (the one reserved for scholars) were a pair of very bright lads with the same first name. How they diverged so spectacularly from the identical standing start in the new bugs’ dorm is something the novel will need to explore. Whatever...
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