Welcome back to the home of the oxymoron. Evil genius. He asked the newspaper to print his obituary early so he'd enjoy it. That's like hiding at your own funeral. Yeah, it's a big, great gig. I'm Russell Kane. Join me to weigh in on whether the biggest players in history are more evil or genius. Becoming that rich, I'd say that at some level of genius. It also helps that it's a long time ago, right?

It's like the podcast version of telling your kids the ice cream van plays music when it's out of ice cream.

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Tonight, a Dickensian London of poor parenting and crushing social immobility,

populated by Bullinden Club-style rioting posh boys. Novelist David Nichols discusses his contemporary echoes

in the big-screen adaptation. He's

made of great expectations. In an age where domestic taste is a national obsession, the designer

Tom Dixon and historian Amanda Vickory explore the first dedicated furniture gallery at the Victoria

and Albert Museum. And as part of a forthcoming Napoleon season,

we explore Anthony Burgess' epicification of the rise of the French dictator.

Honour! The trumpet said it.

Honor!

The drums.

The winter night sky of Paris had fireworks in his honour imposed on it,

streaking like signatures on black parchment

or else stamped like fiery seals. He was in his coach with his empress, drawn by eight bays,

on his way to the theatre. The coach passed fountains, water heroically tamed with stone elephants,

trunking out great trumpeting jets, tiger snarling but at the same time vomiting water,

goddesses of fecundity with the eternal milk of water gushing from their nipples,

holding torches aloft the people of Paris did him honour

...