Emma Soames You have probably heard of Christopher Hitchens. Author, polemicist – and unapologetic atheist – his recent debate on the merits of religion with Catholic convert Tony Blair made front page news and ran twice in its entirety on BBC Radio Four. Fellow atheist Richard Dawkins recently paid tribute to him as "Eloquent, witty, literate, intelligent, knowledgeable, brave, erudite, hard-working, honest (who could forget his clean-through skewering of Mother Teresa’s hypocrisy?) he is arguably the most formidable debater alive today yet at the same time the most gentlemanly." Further, he is incredibly funny.
His latest escapade however is not at all amusing. On a book tour last September to promote his memoir, Hitch 22, he collapsed and was diagnosed with Stage 4 oesophageal cancer – brought on by a lifetime of heroic drinking and smoking. By the time you read this, I just hate to suppose, it is possible that he has died. But as I write he is still out there and showing no sign of softening his position of extreme secularism or stepping back from a fairly hectic schedule. He has become a reluctant voice for cancer sufferers – a condition he’s dealing with without self-pity and from a determinedly secularist position.
But it is how religious groups – in America and, increasingly, globally – are dealing with his illness that is proving fascinating. Some on the far Christian Right in America have claimed that his throat cancer is God’s punishment as that is the organ he was using to blaspheme. By contrast, others have organised a National Prayer Day for him. This appalled the Hitch, who has explicitly asked people not to pray for him. In sickness as in health, he courts impassioned debate.
I saw a lot of him some 40 years ago. We met soon after he came down from Oxford where he had to endure a viva (an interview when a finals' mark is between two grades). The Hitch thought he was being viva'ed for a first, but it turned out it was to see whether he got a degree at all; we roared with laughter as he told the story.
But his brilliance was never in doubt, and his charm and soaring intellect have blossomed with time. We spent some golden weekends at my parents' house where my brothers once ganged up on him and threw him in the river. I’ll never forget the sight of the Hitch emerging from the water in a soaked white suit, clutching his breast pocket where his all-important address book lay.
He also once secretly spent a night with his boss’s daughter at her father’s flat. Lying in bed he lit a cigarette, stretched his arms above his head, knocked a picture off the wall and set off the burglar alarm. Somehow he always extricated himself with grace. If only he could do that now.
You may have seen Saga’s new campaign to set up a Roll of Honour of Good Neighbours. Citations that people have submitted in praise of their neighbours are heartwarming in the extreme – do take a look on our website, saga.co.uk.
There are some truly kind people looking out for their elderly neighbours; nothing, it seems, is too much trouble, from shopping, hanging out washing, or just making time to stop for a chat. But it’s been quite difficult to winkle them out. Almost by definition, good neighbours don’t usually expect their good deeds to be recognised. So if you are benefiting from the kindness of a neighbour or know someone who is making a real difference, please let us know – details are at the bottom of this page.
My New Year’s present to myself was a wardrobe detox. Stylist and wardrobe expert Annabel Hodin spent hours in my cupboards and drawers, encouraging and cajoling me into throwing out clothes because I never wear them, because I shouldn’t – or because you only need three rather than 10 pairs of black trousers.
She started off saying she’d edit my clothes but two hours later said, "This is more of a cull than an edit.” Two hours after that she said, "Actually this is a purge."
Out went the bland, the bad and the ugly. Forward came the flattering, the forgotten classics. I am now wearing rather good clothes found under layers of nasty high street mistakes. I can find my things as there’s room in the cupboards and an unexpected side effect is that I have become much tidier. The local charity shops are thrilled too.
Nominate your good neighbour and we'll add them to our online Roll of Honour and feature a selection in the magazine. Email goodneighbour@saga.co.uk