‘I accused Donald Trump of sexual assault. Now I sleep with a loaded gun’
Advice columnist E Jean Carroll on what happened after she told her story
Miss Bingley greets you in the driveway to the house in upstate New York, surrounded by a tangle of knotted woodland. The Toyota Prius, named after the spiteful Caroline Bingley in Jane Austen’s Pride And Prejudice, is an appropriate place to start – because without the car there would have been no road trip and without the road trip there would have been no reckoning with a list of hideous men, and without that reckoning Miss Bingley’s owner would not today find herself at the centre of an almighty storm involving the most powerful person on Earth.
E Jean Carroll’s cabin in the woods is small – 600 sq ft, she keeps reminding me – and engulfed in trees, which the New York media fixture and Elle magazine agony aunt has allowed to grow right up to the windowsills. “Welcome to the Mouse House” has been handpainted on the front of the cabin – a reference to the mice frequently dragged in by Carroll’s cat, which goes by the name of Vagina T Fireballs.