Hallelujah for Andrew Roberts who laments in the Literary Review the sad state of affairs now that amateurs have muscled their way into history writing, cheers Mrs. M. He bemoans the epidemic of affluenza, putting too much importance on money, beauty and celebrity, which has infected the once sacrosanct literary world. I've had a moan myself in Talk of the Town about oscar-type literary prize ceremonies, and the fashion that writers be entertainers in a star studded, literary festival world.

Andrew Roberts makes an excellent argument that the realm of biography and history are being eroded by amateurism. Reviews are no longer ‘written by peers, but by novelists, newsreaders, actresses, and C-list celebs!' Literary prize judges are now ‘chefs, weather girls and soap stars.' The history market has been taken over by writers who know little about it. We probably have Richard and Judy to thank for this.

It seems the best way to publicize your biography is to pose nude behind a stack of your books, as Amanda Foreman did in Tatler. This is the quick way to make a killing on the bestseller lists. And Voila! biography becomes the playground for beautiful, glamourous young celebs who are commissioned for their looks, not their abilities. How photogenic you are is more important than what you have to say. Publishers are looking for pretty girls who look good on television.

Why do publishers commission books on historical subjects from celebrities? For the same reason we have to endure these tiresome people everywhere we look. It sells!

I agree with Andrew Roberts that historians have become a persecuted minority in British society. Sadly.