It was always the voice. If you knew nothing else about him, as soon as you heard that voice – on the radio, on the telephone – you’d know it was the art critic Brian Sewell. He seemed permanently to have at least one plum either in his mouth or at the back of his throat. But what he said made you listen, and think – and see. His analysis of art, both on the radio and on the page, was shrewd, incisive to the point of ruthlessness, funny – and compelling. You always wanted to hear, or to read, more. Thousands turned to his weekly Evening Standard column to savour Brian’s viciousness. Pull punches he did not. ...
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