Confessions of a collector

Over the years, writing books, I've received quite a lot of letters from other writers. I suppose if I'd been a plumber or professor I might have received letters from other plumbers or professors, which naturally I would have kept. Most certainly, as Alf Ramsey used to say. For I'd still have been me. Collecting is a calling, not a matter of choice or chance.

I've got eight different collections of autographs and letters, all well arranged, compared with a lot of my treasures. God, what a mess some are in, bought in a heat of excitement, then in the cool of the evening left to pile up, ignored, as if I don't love them any more, but I do, I do.

Letters are easy to arrange and file, and to categorise under different headings, such as Politicians, Poets. One of the fattest files is marked Women Writers. I'm not sure why. Perhaps because there are so many of them. It includes letters from living literary ladies such as Margaret Drabble, Antonia Fraser, Edna O'Brien, Jilly Cooper, Fay Weldon, Deborah Moggach. Would they be upset to know I've kept them? Hope not. Their secrets are safe with me.

I've also got letters from dead writers, such as Muriel Spark. I went to see her in Italy in 1984 when I was presenting the Radio 4 programme Bookshelf, along with the producer, now dead, Helen Fry. I see from Muriel Spark's letter that I took her oatcakes and tea - what a creep.

I don't understand the reference to "the other writer and her arrangements of residence". It might have been the friend she was living with, Penelope, whose relationship to Muriel was not clear, but she was introduced as a sculptor, not a writer. Penelope herself is mentioned in the letter, so it couldn't have been her.

It's awful how you forget. You should always write notes on the back. Same with photos. You think you'll always know the people, but in 10 years you won't recognise them all. Now, who the hell is that stupid-looking person? Oh yeah, it's me.

I have a nice letter from Dame Rebecca West, a fan letter, about a biography I did of George Stephenson, and an irate one from Doris Lessing. I had apparently given the impression in an article that she had said "personal questions about the Booker prize were irritating and a trick" when in fact those words had been used by Tom Maschler, her publisher. I now can't recall the truth, but she ends by giving me her home phone number, asking me to ring her "early in the morning or late at night".

Then there are letters I've bought, having come across them in dealers' boxes or catalogues, such as Daphne du Maurier and Harriet Beecher Stowe. That's just an autograph on an engraving, but it looks pretty.

I also have an interesting letter from Richmal Crompton - hold on, that shouldn't be in here. As the author of Just William, she belongs in the folder clearly marked Children's Authors. Sometimes my system isn't quite perfect ...