Roger Moore

by Roger Moore

  My mother could never bear to see food wasted, and I still dutifully try to clear my plates at meals, but when I hear that up to forty per cent of edible food is thrown away, it makes me shudder. Maybe we need a lesson in consumerism?

  I find it rather sad that society has become so blasé in its attitudes of just tossing things in the bin – and it’s an attitude that risks extending far and above household items and food, too.

  Coffee used to come with two choices: black or white. In Italy and Italian coffee bars around the world, you could get a nice strong espresso to start off your morning, or perhaps a cappuccino to ease in to the day with a little less of a caffeine kick. Now, however, when you enter a coffee shop you’re presented with a menu of baffling proportions and can’t simply ask for ‘a coffee’. I scan the board and find myself wondering whether a decaf soya milk latte actually tastes like coffee? What is an ice burnt caramel latte? A salted toffee macadamia latte anyone? A piccino? And who dreamt up caffe misto? Dare I even think about a Java chip frappucino? Is caffe mocha coffee, or a hot chocolate with an identity crisis? And why on earth are they all served in soup bowls with two handles? Who can drink that much coffee?

  Make mine a tall non-fat latte with a caramel drizzle, please.

  Then there are smoothies (we used to call them milkshakes in my day), and teas from all over the world ... leaving me totally perplexed as to what to ask for, not to say blooming annoyed!

  There are at least two things on this table that I can no longer enjoy – but the flower is nice.

  THINGS THEY NEVER TELL YOU TO EXPECT

  Reaching eighty-nine is rather lovely, though on the flip side, attaining this great age doesn’t come without its own issues. Actress Miriam Margoyles recently said, ‘No one tells you old age is going to be shitty.’ Perhaps a little indelicately put, but nonetheless perceptive.

  Playing secret heroes, action-adventure characters and suave crime stoppers was all in a day’s work for me as a young, agile actor. Yes, back then I could leap out of cars, run up stairs without taking a breath and happily throw myself around sets for fight sequences, often without putting a hair on my well-lacquered head out of place.

  Ah, in those heady days I enjoyed sumptuous lunches made from the most extravagant and finest ingredients, not to mention the very best champagnes and wines to complement the meal, followed by decadent desserts.

  Well, mate, that’s all stopped!

  I now glare at stairs with contempt and huge suspicion. Instead of leaping out, I have to prise myself carefully from cars while desperately trying not to accidentally break wind in the driver’s face. Oh, and the only thing I seem able to fight with is my seemingly hermetically sealed glasses case while trying to get my reading specs out to study a menu – hoping to find more simple foods that don’t give me indigestion or heartburn.

  If you worry, you die. If you don’t worry, you also die. So why worry?

  MIKE HORN

  WHAT IF …?

  Vendetta (c. 1993)

  In 1993 the TV movie Barbarians at the Gate, based on a book by Bryan Burrough, was produced, with James Garner in the lead. It was both a critical and commercial success. In subsequent interviews Burrough mentioned his other book, Vendetta, which was centred around the American Express takeover of a private bank run by Edmond Safra. After a bitter dispute, the $450 million takeover was later reversed and Edmond won a public apology from American Express for starting a smear campaign against him, plus $8 million in damages, all of which he donated to charities.

  There was talk of making a movie of this book, with me playing the chairman of American Express, however, the project never materialized.

  Six years later, in December 1999, Edmond Safra and his nurse Vivian Torrente were suffocated by fumes in a fire that was deliberately lit at the billionaire’s Monaco home by another of his carers, in a bizarre attempt for the arsonist to gain more recognition from his employer. It was a huge tragedy.

  In 2013, my doctor declared, ‘You have type two diabetes.’ Mind you, I wasn’t terribly surprised, given that I had recently collapsed on the sofa with an unquenchable thirst.

  ‘So what does that mean?’ I enquired, hoping the answer would be ‘not too much’. I didn’t want anything to rock my routine.

  ‘No booze, no puddings, no chocolate, no sugar,’ said the doc. Was that a hint of glee I saw in his eyes?

  For someone who liked all four – sometimes, I admit, to excess – it was a rather deflating moment when I was proffered a diet sheet at the hospital. I remember seeing such delicious, saliva-inducing foods as ‘plain brown boiled rice’ and ‘unsweetened wholegrain cereals’ on the list. I frantically scanned down the page looking for my beloved baked beans on toast. No! Apparently there is ‘too much sugar’ in them, and those delicious toasted baguettes I enjoyed with lots of butter contain ‘refined carbohydrates’; it had to be wholemeal bread from now on. Furthermore, there was to be no full-fat dairy or cream (bang went the butter), fruit juice, fatty cuts of meat – surely that doesn’t include pork pies? – or fried foods. Could I still enjoy the occasional ginger beer shandy? Afraid not. I had to watch my weight, my cholesterol and my sugar intake. If I didn’t, I’d potentially risk everything from foot damage (including possible amputation) to heart disease – just what a hypochondriac needs to hear.

  My favourite tipple (non-alcoholic, of course).

  To be serious for a moment, it was certainly a wake-up call and I immediately felt guilty for all those years of stuffing my face; though my doctor assured me that age was also a contributing factor to the condition. Oh no, another downside to getting older! Though I should add the condition doesn’t just strike old folks, as my friend Tom Hanks revealed in 2013. He was only in his mid-fifties when he was diagnosed with diabetes and blamed not following a healthier diet when he was younger. Let that be a warning to you, dear reader – eat and live healthily as you only have one body.

  I now take a daily pill, measure my blood sugar regularly and dutifully record the results, though occasionally I wonder if my readings are a bit too high or a bit too low? Nevertheless they’re beautifully written up. And when I say ‘no chocolate’, I should admit I soon discovered diabetic-friendly bars. That was a momentous day and I was a total pig. If only I had managed to open up my glasses case when I made that all-important initial purchase I’d have read the label that stated ‘Consumed in any quantity, they act as a laxative’ …

  Speaking of visiting the smallest room in the house, when I turned eighty I was warned to ensure that I always zipped up after using the facilities, as apparently some men forget. That’s not so much a problem for me nowadays … as long as I’m reminded to zip down first. One of later life’s worries is definitely having a keener interest in knowing where the loos are situated. You too may hear yourself saying, ‘Ought I to pop in – just in case?’

  In forever seeking the elixir of youth my ears pricked up when someone, somewhere, said that beetroot juice is good for you. It supposedly helps lower high blood pressure and prevents dementia. As I had a touch of the former and was keen to ward off the latter, I bought a couple of litre bottles and happily drank them throughout the course of a day. As I gulped it all down I kept thinking how this quite sour detox drink would be doing me no end of good inside; that is until I discovered beetroot juice, served in any great quantity, is also the most wonderful and effective laxative. My gut has rarely been more mobile, if you’ll forgive the turn of phrase, forcing me to retire with some haste – again! – to the smallest room, where, some time later, I noticed our once white bathroom suite had turned a very garish shade of pink.

  WHAT IF …?

  The Specialist (1994)

  Sylvester Stallone – with whom I very nearly appeared in Escape to Victory – and Sharon Stone were being lined up for this all-action Paramount Pictures production, and I was approached about starring (with options on sequels) but at the time I was seeing my own specialists about prostate cancer and couldn’
t commit to the movie, nor would I have imagined the insurance companies would have sanctioned my casting with ongoing treatment taking place.

  Maybe it was fortuitous, as I don’t think it would have done me any favours. Reviewers were pretty scathing. Roger Ebert said: ‘The Specialist is one of those films that forces the characters through torturous mazes of dialogue and action, to explain a plot that is so unlikely it’s not worth the effort. You know a movie’s in trouble when the people in line at the parking garage afterward are trying to figure out what the heroine’s motivations were.’

  There have been certain foods I’ve avoided most of my life – strawberries and coriander being two prime examples. I just don’t like them. Cucumbers, on the other hand, always seemed to be fairly innocent fruits (or are they a vegetable? No, I’m sure they’re a fruit) mixed in with salads and shredded to accompany crispy duck, pancakes and hoisin sauce. So whoever would have thought innocent old cucumbers would turn on me in later life? Now they must be avoided for fear of triggering involuntary exhalations. Yes, that green gas-inducing fiend has a lot to answer for.

  Enough talk of laxatives and wind!

  ‘What’s that?’ you say. Oh dear, have you gone a bit mutt and jeff?

  Well, Kristina will sympathize, as she grew quite fed up of me asking her, ‘What was that?’ almost every time she spoke to me. That and her walking into the television room to find the walls vibrating because of the excessive volume, only to find me having an oblivious snooze, pointed to one thing: yes folks, the old hearing wasn’t what it once was.

  The same happened with my father and I bought him a hearing device that could be best described as a small radio-sized box with a wired earpiece. Quite often he would forget to switch it on – you could always tell, as, in trying to hear what he himself was saying, he’d be virtually shouting across a restaurant table.

  As we grow older, we must discipline ourselves to continue expanding, broadening, learning, keeping our minds active and open.

  CLINT EASTWOOD

  Of course, technology has advanced hugely and everything has shrunk in size, so when it came to my turn I was able to buy some very nifty, almost invisible, tiny little hearing aids, which slip effortlessly into both ears and which are on continually. Well, until their batteries run out.

  The only trouble then is that I can’t see the damn things to change the batteries (the ‘virtually invisible’ slogan is certainly accurate). Once I get my glasses case open and lay out the devices and the tiny pinhead-sized batteries on my desk, I find I often accidentally knock one onto the floor. Kristina will join me on my hands and knees peering and shuffling around trying to find the proverbial needle in a haystack.

  WHAT IF …?

  The Red Phone (1996)

  In August 1996, The Globe reported that I was set to sign a $6 million deal for four TV movies, as the head of a Mission: Impossible-type team battling terrorists around the world. Called The Red Phone the story continued: ‘Industry experts predict the flicks will be a big hit in the light of the deadly TWA Flight 800 tragedy and the terrorist bombing at the Atlanta Olympics. These films will air as television movies in the US, but will be released as feature films in Europe, a source explains. In addition to his hefty salary, Roger will share a percentage of earnings from the theatre releases and video sales.’

  If only these industry experts actually knew what they were talking about! I never saw $6 let alone $6 million, nor a script.

  Fairly recently, on leaving a theatre dressing room, I unhooked the cheek microphone I’d been using on stage, dashed out to the car and off to our hotel a few miles away to have my late evening tea and toast while watching the news. The TV was obviously faulty though, as it was only producing sound from the speaker on the left-hand side – and even that sounded a bit muted. That’s when I realized I must have flicked my right-ear hearing aid out when I removed the cheek mic. We were leaving at eight o’clock the next morning for the next venue, a three-hour drive away, and so at 11 p.m. we made the mad dash back to the theatre, arriving just as the stage door keeper was locking up. A joint hands-and-knees effort found the offending gadget in the dressing-room shag pile. Phew!

  And why is it that I can guarantee those batteries that I spend an hour replacing will always run down when I’m either giving a speech, on stage or taking part in a TV interview? As they run out of juice, they ‘helpfully’ emit a repeated and ever-louder ‘da-da-da-da’ noise, which, of course, only I can hear. No one told me this when I bought them, so many was the time I thought a loud radio had been switched on behind me. To say it’s a distraction is an understatement and you may just see me on a TV show looking longingly over the host’s shoulder – not at anyone in particular, but rather in the hope they’ll go to a commercial break so as I can dash off and remove the orchestra in my ear.

  You can’t help getting older, but you can help yourself from becoming old and infirm, in mind as well as body.

  JOAN COLLINS

  Worse still, I often forget to put them in and have undoubtedly left many TV hosts quite perplexed as to why I answer questions they never quite asked me. Then again, perhaps they shouldn’t mumble!

  As hearing goes a little awry with advancing age, so does eyesight. Admittedly I’ve worn glasses for several decades, and contact lenses when filming, which, of course, are as fiddly as heck to fit and often leave me with tears running down my cheeks.

  At some point, if you live long enough, you’ll hear the immortal words: ‘You do have a cataract, but it’s not ripe yet,’ from an ophthalmic optician with an almost euphoric sense of anticipation.

  So, faculties start failing; what else goes wrong? Well, hair grows everywhere you don’t want it to, and not where it should: it’s a bit much when my barber spends more time trimming my ears than my fringe. Oh yes, there’s lots of fun to look forward to!

  As you grow older, you’ll likely notice an unpleasant side-effect of the process: you can’t handle hangovers as well as you used to. Or am I just imagining they get worse with advancing years? Although my boozing days are now behind me, there was once a time when, after a heavy night on the Jack Daniels, I could laugh off a hangover and report for work fresh-faced and raring to go. In later years, though, the day after the night before would start a little quieter and a little more slowly.

  The dry mouth. The nausea. The fatigue. The feeling that your head is going to drop off. Yes! That all gets worse and there is medical research to back me up on this. Scientists have discovered that the older one gets the less efficient the body becomes at breaking down alcohol. Apparently there’s a chemical in the body called acetaldehyde, which is the thing responsible for those headaches and the feelings of nausea, and because we all gain fat as we get older and fat can’t absorb alcohol, that means there’s less space for it to diffuse.

  Also, they say another reason why hangovers get worse is due to a decrease in body water content, which leaves concentrated alcohol in your system for longer. So take a tip from me: drink lots of water after a boozy night out!

  Do you like sport? Getting socks on is now a two-person Olympic sport in our house and, much like a tug of war, I pull and Kristina pushes. We jiggle and we twist until, eventually ... success. Only then do I find that my ankles have swollen in the Monaco summer heat so I can’t get my bloody shoes on. I’m sure it’s not the done thing to turn up at formal occasions wearing tennis shoes but then again people are so busy staring at my ear hair that it doesn’t really notice.

  Besides, I don’t dress for fashion, I dress for comfort. My preferred mode of attire is a blazer and grey slacks. I asked my tailor if double-breasted jackets are in vogue, ‘No, but they will be once they see you in this one,’ said the silver-tongued outfitter. Though, as Kristina says, you can really attend any function dressed in a good blazer: from lunch to a garden party, a film preview to a swanky dinner out, it’s multi-functional.

  The slip-on shoe – a delight after wrestling with one’s socks.

&n
bsp; As you get older, your immune system isn’t quite as strong so you are a bit more susceptible to coughs and colds – well, I’ve certainly found that. They’re not spread as much through the air as they are through hand contact. Yes, if you shake hands with someone you’re more likely to pick up their germs! Pushing trolleys around a food store or carrying a shopping basket around is just as treacherous. So we carry a little bottle of hand gel with us and when we walk into a shop or a restaurant or a building, after shaking hands with several people – anyone who proffers a limb – we discreetly take a little gel and rub our hands. It’s at this point you can always guarantee someone who wasn’t there a moment ago suddenly appears. They first clear their throat (into their hand) or perhaps wipe their nose moving that glistening dew drop into their palm, before offering the sweatiest of excited hands and pressing it into yours. They then insist on gripping it firmly as they relate a long story to you. You can almost feel the germs penetrating.