May Week Was In June

Arriving in Cambridge on my first day as an undergraduate, I could see nothing except a cold white October mist. At the age of twenty-four I was a complete failure, with nothing to show for my life except a few poems nobody wanted to publish in book form.’
Falling Towards England – the second volume of Clive James’s Unreliable Memoirs – was meant to be the last. Thankfully, tha