John Walsh was born in 1953 in London. He is currently Assistant Editor of the ‘Independent’, he has written for and edited numerous newpapers and magazines. He has been a radio presenter and was director of the Cheltenham Festival of Literature in 1997.

Praise for ‘Are You Talking to Me?’:‘A very funny book, and also an unusually charming one.’ Sunday Telegraph, Books of the Year‘For entertainment value it would be hard to beat John Walsh’s Are You Talking to Me?’ Sunday Times, Books of the Year‘Irresistibly funny.’ Daily Telegraph‘Bittersweet in its nostalgia, and smarter and funnier and more moving than “High Fidelity”, this is a grown-up book about growing up.’ Sunday TimesPraise for ‘Falling Angels’:‘A book to be relished.’ William Trevor‘The reader should be warned that this is a book that makes you laugh out loud in public. A magnificent entertainment.’ Independent‘A warm, seamlessly well-written memoir…the prose is fluent, its craftmanship meticulous. The dialogue is dead-on: the hungry father could “eat a reverend mother’s arse through a cane chair”…Walsh’s affection for his subject matter is infectious.’ Lionel Shriver, Guardian

John Walsh was born in 1953 in London. He is currently Assistant Editor of the ‘Independent’, he has written for and edited numerous newpapers and magazines. He has been a radio presenter and was director of the Cheltenham Festival of Literature in 1997.

Praise for ‘Are You Talking to Me?’:‘A very funny book, and also an unusually charming one.’ Sunday Telegraph, Books of the Year‘For entertainment value it would be hard to beat John Walsh’s Are You Talking to Me?’ Sunday Times, Books of the Year‘Irresistibly funny.’ Daily Telegraph‘Bittersweet in its nostalgia, and smarter and funnier and more moving than “High Fidelity”, this is a grown-up book about growing up.’ Sunday TimesPraise for ‘Falling Angels’:‘A book to be relished.’ William Trevor‘The reader should be warned that this is a book that makes you laugh out loud in public. A magnificent entertainment.’ Independent‘A warm, seamlessly well-written memoir…the prose is fluent, its craftmanship meticulous. The dialogue is dead-on: the hungry father could “eat a reverend mother’s arse through a cane chair”…Walsh’s affection for his subject matter is infectious.’ Lionel Shriver, Guardian