MC: You’d be insane to read all that.

GD: You’d be insane not to. You can play this great game called David Thomson.  You have to work out whose entry this is: That face did not become an image until the age of fifty.  It took that long for lines, sleepy eyes and a drooping mustache to soften the sculptured Lithuanian rock often cast as an Indian—. But note the genius of the writing. You can tell Thomson likes older stars because he can’t really get it up for Jennifer Lopez.  Whereas he goes on about Angie Dickinson’s legs for about a page. It’s mad, this book.  Completely bonkers. I don’t know about teaching.   It’s just a sort of—if one out of ten students has his or her mind blown, it’s a success.  But I’m very confident with you, Matthew, as a man of great discernment, that years from now, you will think, I went all the way to England to interview that writer and I’m really glad I did because he turned me on to the Biographical Dictionary. You’ll be mainlining this stuff.

MC: Better than Bernhard?

GD: Similarly addictive.

MC: Have you ever dyed your hair?

GD: I’d like to. Dark.  Plausibly dark, just like in the Jeff in Venice book.  I wasn’t born with grey hair and now grey is the dominant thing.  If I could get it dyed without spending a lot of money I’d do it, but with a barber, there are two attributes I need: cheapness and speed, which shrinks the available quality pool.

MC: Are haircuts for you a scissors affair? Or are clippers involved?  A razor?

GD: I don’t mind if this interview is for a gay hairdressing magazine, but must we talk about my hair.  Your hair looks good.

MC: I cut a little everyday.