Here are some other revelations from the night:Īlways start a chapter with a bang, and Forsyth does in The Outsider: “I recall the day I almost started world war three with exact accuracy, for reasons that will become plain.” With a stately Britishness, he admitted to being bewildered by technology, but knows the best way to infiltrate a white supremacist gang in South Africa. He also once avoided being raped at knifepoint in Paris – by pulling out a bigger knife.įorsyth has been a foreign correspondent, an “asset” as he put it – not a spy, despite recent headlines – and a bit of a ladykiller. But the RAF didn’t fulfil his big dream and it wasn’t until this year that he flew one for the first time. “There is no story, just a hell of a lot of anecdotes,” he protested.ĭesperate to fly a Spitfire, he lied about his age in the 50s to qualify for national service. On a gloomy night in Camden, north London, he was in conversation with Mark Lawson about The Outsider, an autobiography – though he cringes at the word. The 77-year-old novelist came across in the flesh as something of an aged James Bond, who has had his own romances, gadgets, and perhaps even a newspaper with eyeholes cut out of it.
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