That's How It Happened

Lord Michael Pratt, who has died aged 61, will be remembered as one of the last Wodehouseian figures to inhabit London's clubland and as a much travelled author who pined for the days of Empire; he will also be remembered as an unabashed snob and social interloper on a grand scale.

Pratt would arrive at country houses announcing that he was en route to another castle or (even larger) stately home, and was intending to stay for only one night. Quite often the "night" would turn into weeks, and sometimes months. Although he was generous with his conversation, gossip and anecdote, many hostesses tired of Pratt's failure to make anything but the smallest contribution to the house or staff.

He was sent to Eton, having already acquired the rotund shape that would stay with him for the rest of his life.

On arriving at Balliol College, Oxford, Pratt took exception to the state of his rooms, decamping to the Randolph Hotel until his mother arrived with bucket and mop to render his apartments habitable.

There followed numerous rows with anyone who crossed him, and many rumbled on until the day he died. Just days before his death he was involved in an argument over a bill with the owner of an off-licence at Dulwich.

He was also a leading light in another Oxford club called the Snuff Committee, the sole purpose of which was to take snuff and drink port. Membership was by invitation only; the only stipulation was that one had to be the son of a landowner.

After graduating Pratt found a position at Lazard Brothers, the merchant bank. Three months into his new job, however, he judged that it would be more agreeable to attend Royal Ascot than to turn up at the office, and his services were dispensed with. He never again sought full-time employment.

Pratt's working day would usually start with a large gin and tonic before he meandered towards White's Club in St James.

Towards the end of his life, however, he found himself barred from one of his clubs. Ironically, this was Pratt's, where he was asked to leave the premises following a spectacular altercation with a waitress.

Pratt was generally ill at ease with modern technology, and even after his motor accident at Oxford he remained a demon car driver, terrifying passengers with his speed and overtaking technique, which he often employed on blind bends at speeds of more than 70mph. Pratt was equally dangerous with firearms. On one drive he shot a fellow gun in the eye, and invitations to shoot dried up.