Neither title nor subheading is remotely justified. Dormouse be blowed - flitting to Italy to rescue a Zeffirelli screenplay, getting death threats from the animal-rights brigade, foiling a New York street conman, nursing the Royal Court Theatre through its refit, chiding the home secretary over lunch: much more than most 76-year-olds get around to. And unless you count listening to a judge in El Vino boasting about the size of his son's member, there's nothing disgraceful in it; it's all rather cheering. Despite a nagging leg ulcer and onsetting blindness, Mortimer's text and delivery are chipper. His high, mild tones - no doubt dangerously deceptive in cross-examination - have risen with age and there's the occasional blurry consonant, but Mortimer does his own lines proud.