Some of you are going to be appalled that it has taken me till now to read Trollope’s Autobiography. And quite right too. If I’d read it in my mid-twenties instead of my mid-forties, I would have had two dozen novels under my belt by now instead of a measly five-and-a-half. And you would never have had to read a single column of mine complaining about how poor and underrated I am, because I wouldn’t be. By the time he was my age, Trollope was a household name and bringing in £4,500 a year. This is the rough equivalent of £675,000 today.
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