My personal style signifier is a dark grey three-piece mohair suit made by Ritchie Charlton. For me, he’s the best tailor in the world right now, the summit of a great British tradition. If I had to describe it, I’d say he creates a sharpness for his clients to inhabit. I saw Eddie Redmayne in a suit the other day and knew immediately it was by Ritchie. He used to do his magic for Alexander McQueen, before that for Kilgour, and his suits just exude style. ritchiecharlton.com
The last thing I bought and loved was an Imperial Model T “Good Companion” typewriter, made in Leicester in 1948. A beautiful piece of design and engineering, it improves your writing just looking at it.
The place that means a lot to me is Ayrshire. It’s like an amphitheatre, the fields and rivers rolling to the sea in tiers. (Or in tears, if you read the poems of local boy Rabbie Burns.) I just love the way the seasons play out and the view of Arran from the coastal roads is differently stunning each day. It also has the best potatoes, cows and art deco cafés.
And the best souvenir I’ve brought home is a suitcase of paperweights from Paris. I got them from an old shop in the Marais and some of them were really old, each a world in itself. I now have them on a little Indian table in my den and I like to imagine some of them were spirited to me by Colette, just for good luck. (The French writer hoarded paperweights.)
The best book I’ve read in the past year is something I just read in manuscript, but it will be huge. It’s called Children of Radium and is a family memoir by the poet and novelist Joe Dunthorne. We follow him as he searches for the story of his grandmother’s father, a brilliant German scientist who may have used his brilliance in ways that he could never really face up to. Dunthorne brings distinction and finesse to every sentence, such as when he speaks of the old man’s depression, “washing dishes as if trying to drown them”. A masterpiece.
The podcast I’m listening to is On Satire, produced by the London Review of Books and presented by two brilliant fellows from All Souls, Oxford, Clare Bucknell and Colin Burrow, the Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire of literary studies. Pour a single malt whisky – Oban (14 years), Bunnahabhain (18), or The Balvenie (19) – and listen to this pair being entertaining and funny about Jane Austen, The Dunciad and Erasmus.
My style icon is Sammy Davis Jr. The king of the one-button suit. He always looked so great. Some people behave like they have no talent, and they dress like they have no talent, but Sammy was the opposite – the coolest member of the Rat Pack.
The best gift I’ve given recently was a bottle of champagne I brought to Edna O’Brien. She always liked good champagne and it was only a few weeks before she died. She was so pleased and her smile lit up the whole room. She came out with the funniest remark ever made about fizz. “Oh, Andrew,” she said, “the great enemy is prosecco.”
And the best gift I’ve received is a first edition of The Cocktail Bar written in 1928 by “Charles”, a barman at the Savoy, from my wife Lindsey. I cherish it. If you ever need a Vanderbilt cocktail in an emergency, I’m your man. There’s also a framed picture given to me by my child Nellie – small fragments of pottery we found one night on a Cornwall beach, and it is priceless.
The last music I downloaded was a series of albums by The Brian Jonestown Massacre. Sometimes you just need the right blend of noise and distortion in your life. I once had to follow the band onstage at an event in The Hague. The stage was covered in broken vodka bottles and overturned chairs, and I arrived in a suit and tie to read a sweet story about my gran. Life is amazing.
I have a collection of perfume. I don’t understand people who wear the same scent every day – their “signature” fragrance. It would be like having a signature coat. To me, you have to go with the seasons, the weather, the occasion, your mood. In late summer, you want citrus, vanilla and fading lavender – you want New York Intense by Nicolaï, or Terre d’Hermès. For a big night out you want Cuir de Russie by Chanel or Danger by Roja. Chanel Cuir de Russie, £375 for 200ml EDP. Nicolaï New York Intense, €205 for 100ml EDP. Roja Danger pour Homme, £275 for 100ml EDP. Terre d’Hermès, £194 for 200ml EDP
The best way to spend £20 is going to the Prince Charles Cinema in Soho and watching Close Encounters of the Third Kind again and losing yourself in a box of popcorn. Or going into The Pot Still pub in Glasgow and buying a pair of whiskies.
A way to make me laugh is to make outrageous remarks about priests.
In my fridge you’ll always find a frozen bottle of gin. A chicken. A lump of parmesan. A bar of chocolate. A bag of salad. The heads of several archbishops. (That’s a joke. See above.)
I’ve recently rediscovered the joys of smoking. I can’t do it very often because I’m 56 and Scottish, which means I’ll possibly have expired by the time you get to the end of this sentence. But sometimes, late at night, in the hidden depths of the English countryside, I may be found with a glowing cheroot under the disapproving moon.
I do not believe in life after death because the earth is all of heaven that we shall ever know. That is why we should try to be tremendous with each other, make great things, and look after the planet. Life’s over in a blink, so we should make it lovely.
The things I couldn’t do without are writing pads from Home Depot in the US, plus black Uni-Ball pens. I write the first drafts of my books with them before going to the typewriter.
An indulgence I would never forgo is good solid shoes from Church’s or Loake. “Walk on air against your better judgement,” wrote Seamus Heaney, and that will involve a decent shoe.
An object I would never part with is a room of one’s own. Call it a man-hut, call it a dressing room, call it a bothy at the bottom of the garden, or a sewing-booth, or your own bathroom. You’ve got to befriend yourself in this life if you want to be happy, so get a room.
The one artist whose work I would collect if I could is the Irish-Scottish impressionist John Lavery. To wake up to a picture of a tennis match or a Moroccan scene or a fancy lady in her fine dress would be life-enhancing. I like to collect paintings by artists whose story chimes with mine. I managed to buy an unfinished Lavery when I started out and I treasure it.
My grooming staple is Kiehl’s Ultra Facial Moisturiser. It’s a friend to the Scottish fizzog. Plus CeraVe Hydrating Cleanser, which isn’t perfumed or abrasive. Rosy Vaseline Lip Therapy is a help with the perma-shocked Glaswegian lip too. Kiehl’s Ultra Facial Moisturiser, £32
My favourite room in my house is our sitting room in Primrose Hill. It’s like a club room for cheerful colourists, with nice pictures and lots of stripes. My friend Jane Ormsby Gore helped us do it and the Irish artist Tony Roche made a ceiling stencil based on a Tuscan basilica. The whole thing is bonkers but comfy and great fun to have dinner in. The fireplace was ripped from some country pile and you can see myriad fossils in the stone.
My favourite building is the Pantheon in Rome. It’s such a perfect monument to human ingenuity. Standing under that beautiful dome and looking up through the oculus, you feel the best thing you can ever feel about a building, that it’s part of you.
My grooming guru is Ossie, my barber at Ossie’s in Camden Town. He’s got the Ageing Anti-Thatcherite Hair vibes down to a T, plus he does the kind of shave with hot towels that qualifies as a triple facial via high-velocity pressure-washer. I come out looking like Montgomery Clift in his prime and it lasts for a good 10 minutes.
My favourite app is AI Chat Smith. I’m rubbish at turning people down, so I’ve handed it all over to an AI app and my new best friend. He says “No” very nicely. I also love IMDbPro, which tells me all about actors’ and directors’ careers (I’ve got a big adaptation of my book Caledonian Road coming up and we have choices to make).
In another life, I would have been a stage designer. I love making up worlds, and the closest thing to writing a novel (in my opinion) is designing a room. You work up the story, you establish the tone, you create the feeling and you set the conditions for characters. In another life, I would have worked with theatre people to do that. My hero is Bob Crowley, the best stage designer in the world, who sees in brilliant images.
The works of art that changed everything for me were the poems of Wallace Stevens (exquisite, sublime), the paintings of Vermeer (social, particular), the scents of Guerlain (poetic, stylish), the music of The Smiths (unsettling, uplifting), the movies of Marilyn Monroe (funny, inventive), and the Elgin Marbles (timeless, enthralling, and disputable).
When I need to feel inspired, I walk to King’s Cross and mooch around the old churchyard, or walk along the promenade in the seaside town of Largs, stopping for tea and an Empire biscuit and thinking of something that might materialise. Or sometimes, I just sit with an essay or a few pages of Robert Louis Stevenson and realise that good writing is a pure tonic.
On my “For You” page you’ll find lots of my book stuff from around the world – festivals, events, covers, nights out – plus celebrations of friends and daft jokes. Instagram to me should be like a pictorial diary of the exciting things that happen to one, and sharing them is part of the excitement. I now officially love my followers. They’re in the party spirit.
The last item of clothing I added to my wardrobe is a sky-blue silk shirt by Edward Sexton.
The best bit of advice I’ve ever received was “shut your face until you have something to say”. (Mrs Wallace, Primary 2.) Or “why are you so in love with self-pity? Why not try hating it?” (An ex.)
Caledonian Road by Andrew O’Hagan is published by Faber & Faber at £20
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