The cat that got the cream

Terence Conran, not content with designing his own chairs and tables, has now knocked up a new form of autobiography too, an immensely protracted question-and-answer session. Friends, relatives, ex-wives, former employees and passing celebs each proffer a Q, and Sir T, that great purveyor, dishes out an A. Asked how he can justify this book, for example, he answers that he will not be able to satisfy anybody's curiosity from the grave, so he might as well do it now, since he's 70. Good answer.

The picture book that has resulted is highly enjoyable in fits and starts. Asked by Sir Les Patterson, "Have you ever done the dirty deed in one of your outlets after trading hours with a trusted Girl Friday?", Sir Terence tells us: "Yes." But he does not elaborate. Asked by Kasmin where and when he first ate foie gras, he tells us it was in Paris in 1954 and does elaborate. Mostly, he's eager enough to tell. How many of those blue shirts does he have? "At the last count, 42." What is his favourite possession? The 19 Bugatti pedal-cars that hang in the entrance hall of his house in the country. What is the most exciting innovation he has ever seen? A Stealth bomber. His top chair? His fave martini? Best wine with asparagus? Perfect meal? Dream weekend in France? Ideal form of government? On it goes, one courtier after another deferentially begging for a pearl of wisdom. These are not so much interrogations as cringing requests for a list.

Yet Conran's answers are, none the less, fascinating. He loves the good things in life and he's conveyed his own distinct sense of what they are to millions of us now. He's given us much, then, and deserves his retrospect. He's not finished yet either. This book is another piece of Conran propaganda, rather a good piece - and it certainly costs less than lunch in one of his restaurants or the cutlery in his shops.

Just a few snippy questions seem to have slipped in. The managing director of Bibendum asks: "Do you think there should be a time set aside for all of us when we should abstain from some form of eating or drinking?", a polite way of finding out if his master minds enough about being fat to diet. No, the boss replies. "I have been overweight by the same amount for the last 40 years and I expect I will remain so ... Happiness, peace of mind and a full stomach make you look forward to tomorrow. As they say, at the age of 70, a penny saved is a penny wasted. You could say the same of a lamb chop and a glass of Burgundy."

And that perfect meal? "A large plate of Scottish langoustines. A salad made with huge Provencal tomatoes, my own olive oil and a squeeze of lemon, plenty of sea salt. A roast grouse with proper bread sauce, gravy and game chips and a big bunch of glossy watercress.

A perfect Camembert. A bowl of yellow autumn raspberries, a bottle of Batard-Montrachet and another of Romanee-Conti. An espresso or two, an Epicure No2, a vieille prune and off to bed." That's telling them. That's telling us. Thanks for that. Sir Terence has, by the way, wine "with every meal, except breakfast (but I don't eat much then, which is probably the reason for its exclusion)". Asked to describe his perfect morning, he begins with uncharacteristic melancholy: "Mornings are not often perfect ..."