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Simon Gray got me through the holiday from which I've just returned, or least he got me through the beach part of it. I'd been saving The Last cigarettes, the third volume of his The Smoking Diaries, to take away with me, knowing that his masterfully comic dyspepsia would be just the tonic in the heat. But I hadn't realised that he too would be on holiday in it some of the time, so that I would be able to lie there, so to speak, and let him fulminate for both of us."Listen to this," I say to my wife, who is lying next to me. Though she has a back injury, and no more wants to be exposed to the sun we've just paid thousands of pounds to lie in than I do, she still manages to find a graceful way of curling up and reading.Women, of course, have more adaptable bodies than men. Something, presumably, to do with childbirth. Come the hour, they have to be able to bend themselves into positions impossible for a man. Not that we're here to have a baby. We're just here to escape the sun. And read. Which sometimes mean reading to each other.

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