Clive Davis revels in the obituary of Fleet Street hack Brian Vine:

A rotund, Wodehousian figure with a booming voice and rubicund complexion, “Vino”, as Vine was known to his colleagues, wore Savile Row suits, sported a monocle (“for opthalmic reasons”, though the glass was obviously plain) and conveyed the general impression of being an escapee from the dustier benches of the Upper House…

Vine also enjoyed exotic cars, and returned from America with a Cadillac convertible. He liked to tell the story of how, on his way back home from Ascot races, he was stopped by a policeman who asked if he had been drinking. “Yes, officer,” he admitted, “I’m completely pissed.” The policeman asked him to get out of the car and produced a breathalyser, only to be stopped in his tracks when he noticed that the car was left-hand drive and Vine’s wife Beverley was in the driving seat.