Two Biographies for the Price of One…

Miles Kington is the son of a very famous composer, by whom he was abandoned at birth. He grew up among a band of roving gypsies from whom he learnt all he knows about second-hand cars, horse maintenance and music criticism. Upon coming of age, he applied to join the middle class and was accepted as a full-time member last year, though his upbringing still shows in his style of dressing, his fondness for the open country and his tendency to steal the cars of people he is staying with.

He used to describe himself on his passport as an ‘investigative journalist’ but as this led to long periods of detention and questioning at important airports he decided to change this, especially after a brutal three-day interrogation at Gatwick, where he had only gone to see someone off. He now describes himself as a ‘customs official’ and has very little trouble. His advice to all travellers is to have three passports: one for Israel, one for Arab countries and one for staying in French hotels with girlfriends. He thoroughly recommends the Cheval Blanc at Honfleur as a good bet, though it is wise to ask for a room overlooking the harbour, unless you object to the sound of fishermen coming home late at night.

His favourite musician in Django Reinhardt, and when he is asked what his Zodiac sign is at parties, always answers: ‘I am a tourist’, which oddly seems to satisfy people. His main ambition is to find out who his father is and review his works savagely in a serious Sunday paper.

Miles Kington, though English, was born in Northern Ireland, grew up in Wales and got his education in Scotland. Thus at the age of twenty-one he found that he had been living abroad all his life and moved immediately to London, where he still lives.

He worked for ten years as jazz reviewer of The Times, for twelve years as a staff member of Punch and has been in the group Instant Sunshine for about thirteen. He is now in his second year of writing a daily column for The Times called ‘Moreover’ which, being printed on the Obituary Page, is usually taken as being comparatively humorous. If all these activities had been consecutive, he would now be in his late fifties, but he had the sense to make them overlap, as a result of which he is now just into his forties.

He celebrated the arrival at 40 by going to bed early and has this advice for all approaching similar landmarks: If you never make a big occasion out of it, you will not feel you have passed an important landmark. As a result of ignoring my thirtieth birthday, I never really came to terms with being in my thirties, and now that I am forty-one I will never have to! It’s little things like this that keep my complexion clear and my gait steady!

The only thing he can remember from his thirties with great clarity is being knocked of his bike by a Japanese tourist getting out of a taxi, giving him a small scar on his arm which he immediately entered in his passport as a distinguishing mark. To his chagrin, it is now fading fast.

Miles and Miles 1982