Sir: I do not know whether Peregrine Worsthorne's recollections were
intended to set off a lugubrious correspondence on `How I was sacked' but his complaint that the loss of a national newspaper seems to merit more than two poached eggs will bring a pained smile to the lips of many lesser beings. Editors get dinner at Le Gavroche or breakfast at Claridge's. Even publishers apparently get a ham sandwich at a pub.
When I was sacked by the notorious Royal College of Art after ten years, I was told over the telephone in my office, while surrounded by students in a seminar. The news had a similar thunderbolt status to that of the Sunday Telegraph editor's since I had been assured up until that moment that my research into the problems of design education was highly valued. I suppose it's better than what happens to poor devils in other walks of life who return from holiday to find that their names have disappeared from doors or their desks have been removed. A couple of poached eggs and a few kind words would probably do nicely for them.
Janet Daley 15 Capel Road, East Barnet, Hertfordshire
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