When I was born, my mother, who was too frightened of my father to allow herself any liberties, was however, like all other matrons of that time, hopelessly and unrequitedly in love with Clark Gable. At my baptism, in her ignorance she insisted I be named ‘Gonewiththewind’, a suggestion which the priest quite rightly rejected with great indignation. In the ensuing melee, my godmother, who needed both hands to get at her husband, left me floating in the waters of the baptismal font, where I would surely have drowned, had it not been for ...

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