ABSTRACT
Long ago and far away when I was a cub reporter, I used to watch the features desk with ill-disguised envy. The writers all looked terribly sophisticated in their little annexe, surrounded by review copies of books and all manner of other intriguing freebies. I wanted to be a features writer so I could recline in my seat, chewing the end of my pen (yes, this was pre-computers) and spend as long as I wanted pondering well-turned phrases, hob-nobbing with celebrities and testing swanky new moisturisers.
