There are, I suppose, various possible things I might do after failing to reconcile with an estranged wife because of my refusal to give up alcohol. Becoming a drink columnist for a national newspaper is not one of them. Then I’m not Kingsley Amis. Then again, Elizabeth Jane Howard soon ceased to be Mrs. Kingsley Amis. Oh well. Some or all of those columns later re-appeared, clean-shaven, refreshed, and tidied-up as Every Day Drinking (“Being paid twice for the same basic work is always agreeable”), the second of three books (the other two are On Drink and How’s Your Glass?) that differ from much of Amis’s oeuvre in that they are specifically about drink rather than being merely drink-sodden.

Don’t misunderstand that “merely.” An immense torrent of alcohol surged through much of Amis’s work, sweeping his novels and their protagonists on their bleary, boozy, too British to be Bacchanalian, way, and, as it did so, it shaped our view of their creator. As Amis complained/boasted in his Memoirs, he had “the reputation of being one of the great drinkers, if not one of the great drunks, of our time.” Partof the blame lay with the characters with whom he peopled his fiction: “A link is set going and is reinforced every time one of my chaps raises a glass to his mouth, and I have to admit that some of them do so rather often.” Somewhat defensively, and after allowing for the necessary journalistic exemption,