‘Can you do the last lap twice?’ I asked, not quite sure how all these things work.
‘Of course I can,’ said Mr Clarkson.
So both our bidders won. And all the disadvantaged kids won.
Those last-minute lots got us around £430,000. On the night overall we raised an incredible £1 million and more came in from an online auction that had been running alongside us. In the current climate that was big, big money. It was far more than anyone had expected. And it was all going to a good, good place.
So I’ll do charity auctions all the time. I don’t need to learn lines for them. I can play it by ear. And, sometimes, I can do what I did with Jeremy Clarkson and add a little to the sale list as well. I do that with dear Joan Collins all the time. She’s always offering up lots for charity sales. I took advantage of that a while ago when I bumped into Elizabeth Hurley at a bash. ‘I want to ask you a favour,’ I told her. She tried to hide it, but I am sure her face fell. Mine always does, when I hear those words.
‘I want to auction you and Joan Collins for Stonewall,’ I said.
‘Yes,’ Elizabeth said, without a moment’s hesitation. And I knew then that this auction would raise a lot of cash as well. Dinner with Joan and Elizabeth? Who wouldn’t bid for that? Especially as Joan’s life was about to get even more exciting. She was about to join my club. She was going to be made a dame.
24
There’s Nothing Like Another Dame
You don’t get made a dame every day. I get made-up as a dame every year. But that’s a little bit different, of course. So when Joan Collins was given the real honour by Buckingham Palace it was party after party after party. Of course it was. It’s Joan. I know we were all hoping the ribbon would be bestowed by the Queen, who Joan has met so many times over so many years. In the end it was Prince Charles who officiated at the Palace. And what an honour, what an occasion.
The day itself had dawned freezing cold and horribly windy for Joan – more worrying for her Philip Treacy hat, as it turned out. And Joan was on fine form when she and her family arrived at the Palace gates, where her husband Percy realised he didn’t have photo ID on him.
‘Will you vouch for this man?’ Joan was asked by the Palace guard.
‘Well, I’m not sure I’d go that far, but he is my husband,’ she replied, before being waved through with a smile.
After all the pre-party parties we then had a big dinner on the day itself. Some 110 of us got together at the grand old Claridge’s Hotel in London. Percy looked fantastic in his HMS Dame Joan sailor’s hat. And we were all in fine voice – which was important as there was a lot of singing to come.
Percy kicked it off, starting with the first verse of ‘There’s Nothing Like a Dame’. I was allocated the second verse. Then a whole gang of others took us to our rousing, possibly not entirely pitch-perfect, conclusion. Though we were all laughing too much by then to care. There were so many lovely things said, of course.
‘Well, Joan, welcome to the club. It’s taken a hell of a long time for you to get here. I’ve been a dame for forty years,’ was how I started off my little speech.
And, seriously, Joan has been a great, great friend over the years. She’s a hoot, of course. But it’s not just that. She’s also good at sharing friends and people. She’s generous with her time and with her friends. She mixes people up, she leaves them to get along with each other and make friendships of their own. So many of the jaw-droppingly famous people I’ve met, I’ve met through her.
What did I do after Joan was made a dame? I went off to watch a bit of telly. It’s funny, that as the years go by everything comes back around in the end. Such as Poldark, of course! That new man, Aidan Turner, he’s gorgeous and he’s great in the role. The whole show was a lovely return to form for the Beeb. I particularly loved the fact that Robin Ellis, the original Poldark, was given a chance to return to his show. Robin was great in the cameo they wrote for him as the judge. And I got some fun out of it as well. Lots of us from the original series were invited on to telly to talk about it. The BBC took me down to Cornwall to talk from there. I relived my time as the dastardly Ossie Whitworth – a delicious and wonderful part. It was a lovely day out, Aunty Beeb, thanks so much.
While it would take a lot to get me back on stage night after night on a very long-running show, I do still enjoy going to the theatre. I will walk out, at the interval, trying to be subtle, if it’s really poor. But it rarely is. Mostly I sit there, even if I don’t like the material, marvelling at how much talent there is in the cast, the crew, the whole creative industry. Too much talent, I could say. Too few jobs for them all. Too few opportunities.
For my part I’m happy with short-term or one-off gigs, of course. One of those came up in early 2015 after I was chatting to Barry Satchwell Smith. They were putting on a one-off performance of the Stephen Sondheim show Follies, which I love. It was at the Albert Hall, which I also love. And it was to star all sorts of people that I love. There were two lovely Anitas – Dobson and Harris – in the cast. There was Ruthie Henshall, Roy Hudd and Russell Watson. My old mate Stefanie Powers from panto was there with other stellar Americans such as Lorna Luft, Betty Buckley and Christine Baranski. Craig Revel Horwood was directing and I was cast as the compere. I had about ten lines. Even I can manage that, I thought. And it was a magnificent event. Just two performances, a matinee and an evening show. What a joy.
Talking of old mates like half the cast of Follies, one of mine has been through the mill lately. I met Katie Hopkins back in the jungle. She was fresh from The Apprentice. Even then she was tough and direct and feisty. Some people didn’t like that. I did. And I respected her for two things. One for speaking her mind and two for making her living. I don’t know this for sure. But I think she realised that there is a niche in being controversial. I think she realises that it can pay. And she’s got kids. She has a family. She needs to earn a wage so she works it. It’s controversial, what she says, writes and tweets. It’s lost her friends. It’s been said that I’ve been shunned by some for sticking up for her. But I do stick up for my pals. I always have and I always will. That’s what friends are for. It’s not all about the good times and the fun, frothy stuff. I learned early on that loyalty and honesty can mean everything when the chips are down. I’ve had my share of controversies.
Over the years I’ve been attacked for admiring Margaret Thatcher – though I still believe a grocer’s daughter, a girl from nowhere who made it to the very top of the tree, should be a role model, not a pantomime villain. She never deserved the hatred and the vitriol that was and is thrown at her. I love my country. I am proud to be British. And I think we need to applaud those who work hard, pull themselves up and beat the odds. I’ve also taken some blows over a hundred other things over the years. I didn’t leap out and give a 100 per cent backing to gay marriage – and I was all but called a traitor to the gay cause. And that’s me, the man who rode through London on a red Routemaster bus stuffed with family and friends after Neil and I became civil partners. I am not a traitor to any cause. I’m true to causes. And I’m not ashamed of going against the crowd.
I’m unashamed about admitting one other fact about my life today. It’s that deep down I’ve started to enjoy staying in! And that’s not something the old Biggins would have said. I love my telly, now. We’ve got a vast 54- inch screen at home now. I can lie in bed and watch hour after hour. Sky+
Leon didn’t like me. The others whooped a bit though, which was great. I met the two boys from Brighton at a charity event. They are just as funny in real life as they are on their sofa on telly, I’m pleased to say.
I’m even more pleased to say that I myself popped up a few times in the advert break on shows like Gogglebox around then as well. Or at least I made myself heard. I was chosen to be the voice of Morrisons the supermarket. It was a marvellous job. I’d forgotten how much lovely money you could get on a gig like that. I had a great team who made it all so easy and so much fun to record. And I know, getting on for a decade since I’m A Celebrity, that I owe that show for getting me the job. I so treasure this second chance, this new wind of opportunity I’ve been given. So do I get bored talking about bush-tucker trials and the like? Not at all! Why would I? It was a hoot then, it’s a hoot now. So I talk about it a lot at corporate speaking events and award ceremonies. I love all of those. I can play off the crowd, I can be myself, make people laugh and sometimes even make people think. I wonder if I might also inspire or help some people. I have, I realise, become a poster boy for second chances and for the merit of plugging away, year after year. I’m also the proof that you don’t have to be one-size-fits-all to succeed in our wonderful, open and increasingly tolerant country. The 60-year-old gay man who won a telephone vote proved that. We should all be proud of that. Round of applause. We truly should be proud.
The other lesson I’m keen to teach, though, is about stress. It’s part of life. It can’t be avoided altogether. But I’ve become a little scared by it. With the passing of so many dear friends in the past few years, from so many causes, I’ve thought about this a lot. Unnecessary stress really does seem to kill. So I’m trying to focus less on working and more on living.
Neil and I want to spend more quality time in our lovely house, where the walls are covered with pictures and where every picture tells a story and shares a memory. We’re doing ordinary things there, to set us up for the future. New windows, a new roof, some solar panels. It’s not glamorous, it’s not exactly showbusiness, but it’s good. I’ve also bought a flat to rent out, at the top of a building looking out over the Olympic Park in Stratford, just a little east of our home. It’s hopefully going to generate a little income for the future that might take the pressure off. I’ve got my state pension now, of course. I can get a bus pass, so I’m told; I might even use it one day.
And I do have a great example of how to live long and well. My dear old dad passed away a few years ago, lost to cancer of the bowel in another very grim time. But my dear old mum is over 90 and still going strong. We had a big birthday bash for her in Salisbury when the big day came. She has terrible arthritis but is as bright and funny as a button. She’s gregarious. She loves people. That’s a family trait, of course. My brother Sean and I visit a lot. She’s in a very social area. Moving to a quiet country cottage would never work for her. She needs people around her. We all do, at any age. But we need it most of all when we’re older, I think. Twice a week my mum gets a taxi to a local luncheon club where she sees even more friendly faces – and we can see the good it does.
Funnily enough, I try to do my bit on this score as well. I’m chairman of the theatrical arm of the charity Age UK along with so many other honours. I’m genuinely honoured when people ask me to help a charity or good cause. I don’t have millions in the bank. But I’ve been given so much by life. If I can give back then I will.
In the meantime I do have one other thing I want to do more of. I want to travel more. Neil and I want to sail the Atlantic on the Queen Mary. I can’t imagine a better trip than that. We also plan to see Vietnam and the Mekong Delta. And so much more.
And every time I sit back and think about my life I think of all my marvellous memories. So many stories haven’t yet been told. I would have needed something the size of a telephone book to get them all in. To all those dear friends and incredible characters I apologise. You might not have been mentioned, but you have not been forgotten. Making friends and keeping them has been the great joy of my life. That’s the real lesson I’d teach to anyone who wanted to learn from me. Forty years on, I still adore the reunions we have for the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. And I still see old faces from Salisbury Rep.
Theatre people are like family. We’re thrown together seemingly at random. We live cheek by jowl on productions. We go through some extreme ups and downs. But when the chips are down we’ll fight like dogs to support our own. So many people have helped me at the very few low points I have had in my life. And it’s not just material help I’ve needed sometimes. It’s the invitations to get on and to go out. To be at that next first night, charity party or birthday bash. Meeting one person always leads to another.
What good is sitting alone in your room, as someone once sang?
None at all. So that’s why I do still have plenty to do. There’s a play I sometimes dream I might direct. It’s called Out Late, by Tim Turner and it explores the lives of a doctor and his wife in their sixties. The focus is on the husband, who falls in love with a young, handsome patient. But the role of the wife is just wonderful. And who better than me to find a wonderfully strong woman to play it? I can think of so many dear friends and talented actresses who should get the chance.
There’s also a film I sometimes dream of making. It’s The Orchestra. I’ve known that play almost all my life. Sometimes it feels as if it was only last month that I was in my charity shop black tie at the first night of that play in Bristol. Sometimes it feels as if it was only last week that I directed it in a nightclub in Leicester Square in London. Sometimes both occasions feel as if they were a thousand different lifetimes ago. But that play still moves me. And it’s got even more roles for strong, powerful women. I’d relish the chance to cast that.
In the meantime, I’ll throw myself into every opportunity that comes my way. I know I’ve had an incredible, charmed life, full of extraordinary events and larger-than-life characters. I’ve been to places very few Oldham boys get to see. Not all my reviews have been good and not all my career decisions have been right. But I’ve never stopped having fun. And what do I hope for most in the years ahead? Really just for three simple things. More time with my friends, more laughter and more of the same.
Every day that I have thought back on my life I’ve remembered more marvellous memories. So many haven’t yet been told. I would have needed something the size of a phone book to get them all in. To all those dear friends and incredible characters, I apologise. You might not have been mentioned but you’ve not been forgotten. Making friends and keeping them has been the great joy of my life. That’s the lesson I’d teach to anyone who wanted to learn from me. Forty years on, I still adore the reunions we have for the Bristol Old Vic Theatre School. And I still see old faces from Salisbury Rep.
Theatre people are like family. We’re thrown together seemingly at random. We live cheek by jowl on productions. We go through some extreme ups and downs. But when the chips are down we’ll fight like dogs to support our own. So many people have helped me at the very few low points I’ve had in my life. And it’s not just material help I’ve needed. It’s the invitations to get on and go out. To be at that next first night, charity party or birthday bash. Meeting one person always leads to another.
What good is sitting alone in your room, as someone once sang?
None at all. So that’s why I’ve still got plenty to do. There’s a play I would love to direct – it’s called Out Late, by Tim Turner, and explores the lives of a doctor and his wife in their sixties. The focus is on the husband, who falls for a young, handsome patient. But the role of the wife is just wonderful. And who better than me to find a wonderfully strong woman to play it? I can think of so many dear friends and talented actresses who should get the chance.
There’s also a film I’d love to make – it’s The Orchestra. Sometimes it feels as if it was only last month I was in my charity-shop black tie at the first night of that play in Bristol. Someti
mes it feels as if it was only last week when I directed it in the nightclub in Leicester Square. Sometimes both occasions feel as if they were a thousand different lifetimes ago. But that play still moves me. And it’s got even more roles for strong, powerful women. I’d relish the chance to cast that.
In the meantime, I’ll throw myself into every opportunity that comes my way. I know I’ve had an incredible, charmed life, full of extraordinary events and larger-than-life characters. I’ve been to places very few Oldham boys ever see. Not all my reviews have been good and not all my career decisions have been right. But I’ve never stopped having fun. And what do I hope for most in the years ahead? Really just three simple things: more time with my friends, more laughter and more of the same.
25
A Last Word for Cilla
It was a sunny Sunday morning in early August. I had plenty of time before I met some friends for lunch so I was able to relax. I’d made myself a pot of lovely coffee and I was sitting in my kitchen with a stack of Sunday papers. I love the Sunday papers, even if what I read sometimes horrifies me. But it’s part of my routine when I’m at home. I’d be lost without them.
So there I was, radio on, sun shining, coffee in hand, papers in front of me, all was well in my world.
Then my phone rang.
And then everything changed.
It was a reporter from the Daily Star who I’ve known for years. He lives in Spain. He’s on the celebrity beat. He always knows the gossip. But why would he be ringing me – on a sunny Sunday morning?
He said it, very fast. ‘Have you heard? Cilla’s had a heart attack.’
‘That’s ridiculous,’ was all I could think to say. I asked him how he knew. He said he’d heard it from someone else. He wanted me to confirm it.
Biggins Page 25