All journalists like seeing their articles discussed on television, even when they’re being challenged, but the sight of John Poppleton holding a copy of an obituary I wrote earlier this year for the Guardian made me feel profoundly ashamed.
The subject was Father Kit Cunningham, the Catholic priest who had married us, baptised my son (who shares his Christian name) and was a family friend for 20 years. “A Technicolor eccentric, and widely loved as a consequence,” the obituary read.
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