The Diary of a Sex Fiend [antikvár]

Foreword When, some years back, I started The Erotic Print Society Review, the first few editions were a mix of smutty clubland gossip, jovial hackery, intemperate celebrity admissions and occasionally highfalutin academic theses. But there was definitely something missing, a liaison as they say in culinary circles, some sort of ingredient that would bind all these separate elements together. A few editions later. Rowan Felling arrived on the scene as assistant editor and set about transforming The Erotic Print Society Review into its next incarnation, complete with abbreviated title. The Erotic Review. Yet something was still lacking: the essence, the distillation of all our early aspirations. Christopher Peachment, novelist, journalist and former arts editor at The Times, seems at first rather too respectable to have fulfilled this essential role of catalyst for the Review. His, however, is the longest running column and, in my opinion as founder, first editor and sometime publisher, is its very synthesis, with his wildly funny combination of humour, sexual anecdote and outrageous opinion. Chris Peachment hove into view when he was dragooned into helping Rowan produce The Erotic Review, a few issues after she had taken over the editorial reins from me. One of Rowan's many inspired moves to transform this embryonic magazine was to commission Chris to write a diary for each issue. His column was always one of my favourites, and when the possibility of publishing a collection of these gems came up, I was delighted.