The art critic,83, on his cherish of dogs, and travel and cars – and dying slowly and wretchedlyCancer has turned me into an old dog in a vivisection laboratory. I let the oncologists do what they feel they must,and then curl up in a sunless corner waiting for them to do it again.
Writing keeps me sane because it helps me to forget. Kindly editors send me books to review, and The White Umbrella, and my first children’s book,saved my sanity when I was being roasted by radiotherapy.Continue reading...
Source: theguardian.com