Most writers aren’t speakers but Philip Hensher isn’t most writers.

He is a prize winning novelist, published essayist, critic, literary judge, teacher, librettist and double bass player: an introduction to the Monday Literary Society as ‘mesmerizingly clever with a relentless intelligence’ made him laugh, nervously.

In fact, he spoke brilliantly with a very articulate command of his subject and a great deal of humour.

He is also, patently, very nice.

Eschewing the option to talk just about himself, Hensher embarked on a mission to rescue the reputation of historical fiction, explaining that contemporary writers had liberties to include unknown, unpermitted or scandalous details of bygone days.

Personally, he regretted Dickens’s failure to discuss the Empire – or to portray any strong, powerful women of the day.

Hensher described the weird prescience involved in recreating the past and cited the astonishing coincidence of his Afghan war story set in the 1860s in which he decided to add an anachronistic jet streaking across the sky going West. 9/11 happened days after publication. Sometimes, he explained, a story takes over and argues with its creator.

Hensher enjoys a good argument and likes the intellectual challenge involved – he is a little sad at our anything-goes culture. Where’s the fun in that?