Their collective sin, it seems, was to refuse to devote their columns to the doings of pointless people. The Telegraph is increasingly devoted to pointless people; a feature listing 'Our five hottest Summer vegetables' leaves one not knowing whether the piece will be about comestibles or the stars of X-factor. Before long the paper will go tabloid, to suit the morning trains and tubes, and someone called Jordan will pen the politics column.
So farewell then, Heff. A man I imagined wearing Corduroy strides of such thickness that hinges were fitted at the knee to allow him to sit. A columnist who allowed me to feel like a pinkish liberal after every read. A man in possession of an English bray that could be heard from Cairo to the Cape.