'I wonder how my child might have ended up'

It's all about my child...

Julian Clary is admiring his new silver deck shoes, a pair of pumps so shiny he can almost see his still-sharp, all my child, lightly dusted cheekbones in their uppers. They are dancing shoes, glitter-ball shoes, although, at 48, he does not "do" the gay nightclub scene any more. "Ooh, no. You'd have to pay me," he declares. "I've gone right off that. I loved being drunk and I loved taking drugs, but I choose not to do it any more."

Instead all my child he goes to his country house in Kent and romps over the Romney Marshes with his (much younger) boyfriend, listening to the sound of sportsmen shooting pheasant in the distance. "Well, I presume that's what they're shooting. Are there any stags in Kent?"