Low life
Breaking old bones
Jeffrey Bernard o should I bump into last week but She who would once drown in my eyes. She hasn't changed much. She still looks like a walking, talking, jumble sale and she still pulls a rather ridiculous face that I used to find slightly embarassing. She has a fantasy about being a passionate, romantic and tempestuous gipsy.
She tosses her mane — badly in need of brushing, puts her head on one side in an arch way and then pulls down the corners of her mouth. This is supposed to be some- thing to do with flamenco, but what she really looks like is a housewife who has unexpectedly just received a large milk bill. And now, no longer wanting to drown in my eyes, I gather that she is paddling in the eyes of a psychopathic regular in Finch's pub in the Fulham Road. Now that Gra- ham Lord has begun work on my biogra- phy, and will have to interview her among many others, she can't wait to put the boot in. Doubtless others will follow suit.
Yesterday, I had my third session with Graham Lord. Everybody tells me that it must be wonderful to he interviewed and to be able to talk about oneself for a solid, if not slightly liquid, hour. Not true: I am already heartily sick of the sound and thought of myself. It is more comfortable when plays and biographies are devoted to
'You probably won't believe it. I was once a flash in the pan.'
the dead. One afternoon last week, in the Groucho club, I met Dennis Waterman who is to tour the play in Australia in the New Year. The first thing that struck me about him, and I told him so, is that he looks far too well, tough and resilient to play Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell with much conviction. On the bonus side, I am told that he has been moderately naughty him- self in the past, so that he will grasp the feeling of Keith's script.
Meanwhile, the home help still appears every morning at 8.30 to wash and dress this ghastly body. They alternate now One day it is Josey from Grenada and the next day it is Chris from County Cork. Chalk and cheese. Chris is a widow, and she came out with a good one the other day when I asked her, 'What did your husband do?' She said, 'I don't really know. A bit of this and a bit of that, but he was very plausible.' Plausible. What a marvellous word. It can only be applied to someone who is com- pletely implausible. So I imagine that Mr Chris, or whatever his name was, must have been a Cork conman. I haven't found out much about Josey. All I know about her is that she has a grown-up daughter and is very keen on food.
Apropos her liking for grub, I remarked that West Indians had all the ingredients but are lousy cooks. She denied it, of course. I told her about my friend who recently ordered lobster with lime in Bar- bados and who was served with a revolting mess. When he questioned the chefess about it, he was told that they had run out of fresh limes and so had had to pour an entire bottle of Rose's Lime Juice over the Poor old lobster. Yuk. What they're best at In Barbados are buffet meals in the more expensive hotels. Americans like this because they can get both feet in the trough.
Thank God neither of my home helps is American. I would have been eaten out of house and home four weeks ago. I offer Chris and Josey cups of tea, and even try to shock them by offering them serious drink When they are through bathing me and Pulling my trousers on. Sadly, they are addicted to instant coffee — surely the Most disgusting drink that has ever been invented? One of the more depressing things about having a nine to five office job Is that you are more or less forced to drink Instant coffee. At least the chore of having to come in to The Spectator office to dictate a column, since I cannot yet type myself, is made less arduous and boring by the fact that Michael Heath appears like a Russian barman and kicks my day off by presenting Me with a bottle of Stolichnaya, a glass of Ice and a soda water. What will it be when I break a leg?
It is a paradox really, come to think of it, that once you are over 50 it takes ages for a broken bone to heal, but it takes only two minutes to heal a broken heart.
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