In an entertaining contribution to the Christmas edition of the Spectator, various ‘personalities’, own up about well-regarded books they have been unable to finish (or start). Marcel Proust’s À la recherche du temps perdu figures prominently, as one might have expected.

But there are surprises: Quentin Letts admits to having nodded off over Anthony Powell’s A Dance to the Music of Time (but since he began with volume three this was perhaps not giving the novel a chance) and another writer (I couldn’t possibly shame her further) confesses that she can’t stand Jane Austen. Dickens popped up, though not with reference to my own no-go area, Barnaby Rudge, a prejudice given the imprimatur of Claire Tomalin, a guest at the 2012 Sunday Times Oxford Literary Festival, in her recent biography of the novelist.

Perhaps this owes to my regrettable disinclination to read historical fiction (Barnaby Rudge is set during the Gordon Riots). This has also so far put me off (my loss, I know) Hilary Mantel’s prize-winning Wolf Hall and its successor (Booker Prize No. 2) Bring Up the Bodies.

Hilary (whose 1989 novel Fludd I greatly enjoyed) is to be a star visitor to next year’s Oxford literary festival, between March 16 and 22. So, among others, are Ruth Rendell, Philip Pullman and Peter Hitchens.

Mention of the last reminds me that I promised some time ago to give the Oxford-resident Mail On Sunday columnist a mention for his well-argued anti-drugs book The War We Never Fought (Continuum, £16.99). Sorry, Peter, here it is.

And now I entertain high hopes of making Private Eye’s annual list of literary yule log-rollers. Please.