Charles Darwin died in April 1882, almost exactly 80 years before I was born. I had to look that fact up, but my interest in the man is not a superficial one. (Although I might add that I have stayed, during the Hay Festival, in a bed and breakfast run by one of his direct descendants - see www.churchhousekington.co.uk for a totally different approach to self-promotion.) I fully subscribe to Darwin's theory of natural selection - the survival of the fittest.

Which is why, more mornings a week than I care for, I am to be found kicking and punching my way through an hour of exercise. At least one of those mornings will be under the supervision of Holly the Sadist at the gym in the Royal Automobile Club. For those of you reading this outside the UK (and I know this column is read by Canadians in Spain as well as, no doubt, Spaniards in Canada) the RAC is a traditional gentlemen's club in Pall Mall that has latterly accepted lady members and is so posh it can't bring itself to set up lanes in the swimming pool.