I went to a preview of The Lost King, Stephen Frears’s admirable film about the quest by Philippa Langley for the body of Richard III, found under a car park in the centre of Leicester. I don’t know how true it is to the circumstances of the discovery – probably like all films it uses more than a bit of poetic licence – but it rings true as a dramatic fictionalisation of the neurotic Edinburgh housewife fascinated by the idea of retrieving Richard’s body and the way her determination is constantly thwarted by the powers-that-be, particularly the oleaginous and sexist Assistant Registrar at Leicester University, who is all too believable, and Richard Buckley, the porky archaeologist, who is only too happy to take all the credit and got an OBE for the discovery.

The film opens shortly. It’s very enjoyable.