The sun was blazing down and the sky a pale blue with occasional white puffy clouds swept along by the breeze, as the fast running river lapped on the jetty. Our garden on the banks of the river Thames, always felt busy in summer months with constant small craft cruising by. It was a Sunday afternoon in August 1970 and dressed in large baggy T-shirt and faded jeans I was busily helping my father deadhead (the Queen Mother roses) my mother’s pride and joy.
Although I had made a number of films by this time, I was still more than comfortable to be living at home with my parents and had no desire to move out on my own. I loved being at home, particularly at weekends. And I especially enjoyed Sunday lunches and the laughter that followed. This was family time inside in bad weather and out in the garden when the sun shone. They were blissful years that I remember vividly to this day with a smile.
I remember one particular afternoon with complete clarity. My mother, preparing a huge afternoon cream tea and calling me from the kitchen window to tell me Dennis Sellinger was on the phone. One of the hottest agents with a who’s who of stars on his books I had recently become a client and it seemed unlikely on a Sunday afternoon, he’d be calling to talk about the weather.
Winking at me in my scruffy state, she covered the mouthpiece of the chunky Bakelite telephone and whispered shall I tell him you’ll call him back?. No I said I’ll take it, it might be important and it was……
