It was in the mid-1990s that I discovered I was the Antichrist. The insight into my true identity came in a letter from a Mrs McPherson, who lived on the Isle of Man. She’d read a book I’d written on fashion and style, and was offended that a Christian writer (a minister no less) could write a book on a topic as worldly as bodily adornment. Mrs McPherson didn’t hold back. She described my book as: ‘a monstrous, blasphemous lie’ and ‘a wilful transgression of God’s word’. She