The Agreeable World of Wallace Arnold: How I smoked Fidel Castro out of his home

I NOTE with wry amusement that Mr Christopher Silvester of that most waspish of journals Private Eye has deliberately excluded me from his Penguin Book of Interviews, published earlier this month (and to be remaindered later next month - I jest]]) A stranger to civilised intercourse, Mr Silvester has seen fit to include the brasher type of interviewee - the Hitlers and Lennons of this world - pooh-poohing those, like myself, who might be expected to indulge in something approaching intelligent discourse.

I have, of course, appeared on both sides of the interviewer's stool. My collection of interviews with the eminent and the clubbable, Wallace Arnold Requests The Pleasure . . . (Chatto, 1985) set a style for the genre which has been oft-copied but, I can modestly claim, seldom bettered. My system was deceptively simple. First, I would hand-pick a celebrity (dread word]) such as an Archbishop of Canterbury, an International Statesman or a Cabinet Minister. Second, I would be driven around to their house or place of worship. Third, I would switch on my 'tape-recorder'. Then - and only then - would I indulge in a frank exchange of views, taking special care, as courtesy demanded, to let them have their say from time to time. Finally, I would bid them farewell, thank them for the liquid refreshments (]) and hand over the tape to a marvellous little person for immediate transcription.

The results - extraordinarily personal, and deeply revealing of the wit and wisdom, the inner feelings and complex thought processes

of W Arnold, Esq - were inspirational to a whole generation of interviewers. Who can forget, for instance, my famous interview from 1973 with Fidel Castro at the Presidential Palace in Cuba, the full transcript of which is reprinted here for the first time:

W A: Thank you for inviting me here today, Mr President. What a delightful room this is.

F C: Thank you.

W A: Actually, in a curious sort of way, it reminds me of my own sitting room in the Albany.

F C: I see.

W A: Smaller, of course, but like me, you seem to favour dark reds and dark greens - the most civilised of colours] But - forgive me] - I can't help feeling that the chintz curtains were something of a mistake] (Laughs.) Seriously though, let's get 'down to business' as it were . . .

F C: Yes indeed.

W A: I was wondering what your views are on the direction in which the Spectator is going? Too anti-European, would you say? After all, it seems to be losing readers, but then, on the other hand, one mustn't sacrifice editorial principles for the proverbial 'bums on seats'. But if I may move you off that subject for a second, I know you smoke cigars . . .

F C: Correct.

W A: Yet I can't remember ever seeing you with an infinitely more agreeable pipe, and I wondered why on earth not?] Take it from me, a pipe is far less - forgive me] - nouveau riche, and to my mind it's the surest sign of what one might call a companionable sort of fellow. I do advise you most earnestly to make the switch now, or you'll continue to be an absolute laughingstock. By the by, do you believe in God? I do. C of E through and through, Good Lord, is that the time? Must be going now. Don't worry, I've got plenty here. Shall I get them to send you a copy? Marvellous] Cheeri-bye for now, then]

A most memorable meeting, I think you will agree. Indeed, many of my readers consider this to be among the most revealing interviews I have ever undertaken. 'My goodness, Wallace,' they say. 'I had no idea you believed in God and were so opposed to chintz - old Castro certainly got a lot out of you, and that's for sure?'

Alas, more often than not, the boot has been on the other foot, and I myself have been subjected to the prying eye, muttered questions and scruffy notepad of the interviewer. Like my old friend and quaffing partner Mr Paul Johnson, my motto on these occasions is 'MYOB'.

'Good morning, Mr Arnold,' the little guttersnipe will begin when he arrives at the pre-arranged time.

'I should think you've got more than enough now, haven't you?' I will reply, and they are out of the house within the quarter of an hour. This saves an immense amount of bother. Leave them a second longer, and they will simply start to bore on and on about themselves, and what could be more tedious?