Tony Klinger

Before we get to my more general comments I do want to make a special mention of the journalist Rod Liddle. He doesn’t cross my mind more than I cross his, which would mean not at all. But on Sunday he was one of the pundits reviewing the press on the Andrew Marr Show. The small panel was discussing the success as a novelist of Katie Price, formerly known as Jordan. Apparently she is about the biggest selling writer in the country. Rod Liddle clearly couldn’t bear this fact, and when someone else said she was probably the second biggest after JK Rowling. Liddle said he didn’t see much difference. What a sour and jealous little man. I guess the question for him concerns, “how many books have you sold Rod?” I am prepared to bet it’s a tiny percentage compared to either Katie or JK. If they were men instead of women you’d call this penis envy, but in this case we’ll just call it envy, clearly a small man with big pretentions.

I have been watching an old television series called “Taking Over the Asylum” starring Ken Stott and David Tennant. They both went on to become famous in shows such as Rebus and Doctor Who. This show clearly demonstrates their terrific ability and appeal.

The reason for me watching the show was to fill the time on bad TV nights such as Sundays and Thursdays, which, at the moment, are a barren wasteland. Watching a well-scripted, well-acted piece of serial drama like “Taking Over the Asylum” which develops at a reasonable, well-considered pace, in a well-mounted production reminds you of what we’re missing currently on our television screens.

I have also been watching “The Tudors” which has been mostly good, well- intentioned fun. I thought that casting a fellow of moderate height, in Jonathan Rhys Meyers, was acceptable despite his being a great deal shorter than the monarch he is portraying. It was reported that despite the fact that Henry VIII became hugely obese as he got older the star of the series has decided that he won’t be doing anything to make himself physically match the actuality. His rationale being that no one wants to see a plug ugly star. What an egotistical twit. Doesn’t he know that acting is the art of taking on the character of someone else? The only thing Jonathan has that matches Henry VIII in size, is a hugely inflated ego.

It’s a throwback that there are now so many weekend primetime shows such as Last Choir Standing, X Factor, and soon, Strictly Come Dancing. What they all share is that they are good old-fashioned variety shows.

These type of shows were long abandoned and derided by the glitterati but have now morphed into the most popular programs in the schedule, both in the UK and overseas. In fact the formats mostly originate in the UK and have, since becoming ultra successful, been sold globally.

For reasons of snobbery many of the chattering class I know pretend that they don’t really watch these shows, and if they do happen to glance that way, by accident, they certainly don’t enjoy them. What rubbish! These shows get huge ratings around the world because they entertain the vast majority of the public. What’s wrong with that? Come on folks, you’re watching even if you are middle class!

Last night at the witching hour the football transfer deadline was reached with frenetic activity, particularly in the city of Manchester. Two £30 million plus deals went through minutes before the final cut off.

As a Manchester United fan I was thrilled that my team finally managed to pry the elusive Bulgarian, Dimitar Berbatov from Spurs. He finishes the United attacking package which now looks as good as it gets.

Perhaps more fascinating is the fact that Manchester City were able to buy the brilliant Brazilian forward, Robinho from Real Madrid. The reason they were able to achieve this amazing deal is the fact that the entire club was effectively purchased by the Arab Investment Group from its previous incumbent, the former Prime Minister of Thailand.

Robinho burst on to the scene as an 18-year-old when he helped Santos win their first Brazilian championship in 2002.

His fabulous trickery, sublime skills and powerful, sublimely balanced physique led to his being compared with another former Santos great Pele, and eventually Real Madrid came calling with their cheque book open and ready.

Robinho pressured Santos for his move to Real and after a lengthy tug-of-war transfer saga, the Brazilian club relented and sold him to the Spanish giants for $30 million in August 2005.

He was considered the new Galactico when he arrived at the club, Robinho sizzled on his debut as a substitute but it all became a struggle for him during his first European Champions League campaign.

He was part of the team that won the Spanish league title under coach Fabio Capello in 2007, but too often was a substitute and only really demonstrated his skills last season when he helped Real to their second consecutive championship, scoring 11 goals in 32 outings.

Robinho is a current regular in the Brazilian national side. It is public knowledge that he had agitated for a move to Chelsea before the new kids on the block, Manchester City, made the shocking transfer move.

The new owners of Manchester City have declared how serious their intent is by the purchase of the Brazilian, and obviously, behind the scenes must have guaranteed the series of other buys the club has made over the last couple of weeks which add up to a figure in excess of another £30 million. The Robinho transfer is the biggest in English football history.

The new owner of Manchester City, is a an Abu Dhabi consortium led by Dr Sulaiman Al-Fahim, who is no shrinking violet and he expects and appears to want the same high profile impact in England as Roman Abramovich.

Russian billionaire Abramovich bought Chelsea in 2003, bankrolling the Blues to consecutive Premier League titles, a Carling Cup and an FA Cup which has so far cost him more than half a billion pounds to bankroll.

However, these huge sums expended by the Russian at Stamford Bridge will be dwarfed if City’s owner lives up to his promises.

The Arab businessman is understood to be up to ten times richer than his counterpart at Chelsea; Al-Fahim insists funds will be made available to Mark Hughes to bring the club alongside, then above Europe’s elite.
“We would like to see Manchester City fighting for trophies in every tournament,” he said.

“We don’t just want Manchester City to be challenging for trophies in England, but also in the Champions League”.

“We want them to be in for every trophy available.”

He has declared that whoever his manager, Mark Hughes, ironically a Manchester United legend as a player, wants, he will provide the funds to buy.

What this all means is that there is no longer a big four in English football, this investment makes it clear that there is now a big five; add the name Manchester City to that of Manchester United, Arsenal, Liverpool and Chelsea.

Is it a good thing for football in general? Probably not, but it is an exciting and very interesting shake up at the very top of English football that was, perhaps, becoming a bit cosy.

Today we review the film Hellboy II – The Golden Army. It’s great fun and very well directed by Guillermo Del Toro who is clearly a gifted man. His visual concepts are surreal but believable, kind of a Salvador Dali painting brought to life. There’s a direct line in his style from his last release, Pan’s Labyrinth. Again he evidences his ability with characters as well as plot and dialogue, some of which is very witty and all of it light.

The story is, of course, pretty silly, but unlike many films in this genre, still holds together with some coherence.  There are some genuinely funny one-liners that are correctly delivered deadpan and are all the funnier for the actors mugging to the camera.

The plot concerns an ancient truce brought about after terrible wars in the mythical past is broken, hell on Earth is ready to erupt. A ruthless leader who treads the world above and the one below defies his bloodline and awakens an unstoppable army consisting of the creatures of fantasy.

Now, it’s up to the planet’s toughest, roughest super hero to battle the merciless dictator and his marauders. He may be red, horned, misunderstood, but when a job needs doing, it is time to call in Hellboy (Ron Perlman).

Along with his growing team in the Bureau for Paranormal Research and Development (The BPRD) - pyrokinetic girlfriend Liz (Selma Blair), aquatic empath Abe (Doug Jones) and protoplasmic mystic Johann.

The unusual anti-heroes who make up the BPRD travel between the earth we all live in and the unknown, unseen magical one, where fantastical creatures become real and Hellboy, a creature of two worlds who’s accepted by neither, must choose between the life he knows and a dangerous and unpredictable destiny that beckons to him.

The film’s cast stars Ron Perlman in the title role and he is again excellent as the likeable man from hell. I once wrote a script that was going to star Ron, which sadly didn’t work out, but we talked over the telephone on a few occasions and he’s a great guy, with a super sense of humor that deserves the success he’s now enjoying. Did I forget to mention he is also a terrific actor?

Selma Blair plays the love interest in her role as Liz and does a fine job, and is attractive without being plastic. John Hurt does a fine small cameo and as ever brings empathy alongside his huge acting ability. Doug Jones, James Dodd, Jason Alexander, Thomas Kretschmann and Luke Goss finely round out the cast. The film’s length of 119min could have benefited by some more tight editing, but the trend today seems to be for longer films.

I liked the first Hellboy film but prefer this sequel; I’ll be looking forward to the third installment.

As most of you realize, I don’t usually write my articles for this blog straight onto the site. I take time to reflect, to edit, to imagine the consequences. Sometimes you see something that means you just have to break your own rules.

Such a something is the current Democratic Convention in Denver, Colorado. Did I write the word Convention, I should have written Coronation. For that’s what it is, the coronation of their Presidential candidate, Barack Obama.

This is not my political blog, which you can find on http://bcreativelimited.blogspot.com/ but this is about media, entertainment and how these might be used to manipulate opinion, so its fair game. If you want to see politics as a children’s play area, then this is the place for you. Carefully stage managed to within an inch of my throwing up, instead of a convention you might be watching a vast pantomime. Barack is cast as America’s Prince Charming, his wife, Michele is, of course, the Fairy Princess, with Bill, Hillary and Joe as the helpful knights. Clearly McCain is the wicked witch who can do no right.

Is this really the level of political debate that the American public needs or wants?

The only remotely grown up speeches were delivered by Joe Biden and Bill Clinton who managed to sketch in a tiny bit of detail.  Everything else was delivered to fuel this enormous pep rally in which showbiz hype has totally overwhelmed substance.

The truly frightening aspect is that even the seemingly spontaneous moments have been heavily choreographed. A glaring example of this was Hillary Clinton proposing, on behalf of the glorious state of New York that Barack Obama be declared the Democratic candidate for the Presidency by the acclamation of the convention. Strangely the political analysts are so taken with the charm and charisma of Obama and his John Kennedy typecasting that they seemed to notice nothing except the delegates crying tears of adulation for him at every opportunity. I have not seen such media bias since the pre Prime Ministerial period of Tony Blair, and look where that adoration went!

Truthfully I don’t believe Barack is anywhere near as great as they think he is, and neither is John McCain anywhere near as bad as they are painting him. The truth inevitably lay somewhere closer to the middle. It is great that an African American has been nominated by one of the two great party machines of America, and one day it will be great when such a man or woman is elected. But you don’t elect someone because they are telegenic or young or even a great orator. You elect someone you feel can lead your country, that you can trust and you feel identifies with you. This might be the reason that despite it being the Democratic Convention, with huge media bias in his favor, and a shiny new running mate announced, there has been virtually no bounce in the opinion polls for Obama.

Maybe the American people are looking at the very glossy packaging, and although they think it looks great, they’re asking the unavoidable question, “where’s the beef?”

Suffering from severe Olympic withdrawal symptoms I had to do something urgent to take my mind away from the missing synchronized swimming, the Greco-Roman wrestling and the intense water polo matches.

Selecting my choice with careful precision I arrived at the inevitable conclusion that only one film could fill that gap,  “You Don’t Mess With the Zohan”, a comedy from screenwriters Adam Sandler, Robert Smigel (”Triumph the Insult Comic Dog”), and Judd Apatow (”Knocked Up”). This is possibly the most politically incorrect movie of the year and I loved it for this and the fact that it made me laugh from beginning to end.

I have to admit to a special interest, as one of my sons in law is an Israeli. Although he is not a hairdresser nor was he ever, to my knowledge, a top anti terrorist commando, there are personality traits I recognize in the character of Zohan. Like all good comedy characters Zohan is built from a foundation of good observation writ super large.

Sandler stars as Zohan, an Israeli commando who fakes his own death in order to pursue his dream: becoming a hairstylist in New York. One day he simply cuts his ties with Israel and smuggles himself into the United States in a crate carrying two dogs whose hair he does en route. In America, he poses as an Australian with a very peculiar accent, and when asked for his name, combines the names of his airborne flight buddies: Scrappy Coco.

Sandler’s character, Zohan, has a series of very funny unsuccessful salon auditions before meeting someone who understands his unique vision. His archenemy, the Palestinian agent known as the Phantom (John Turturro), is also in New York, and they make war. The Phantom’s training regime is severe. He punches not only sides of beef but a living cow. Like the Zohan, he is filled with confidence in his own abilities, and with reason (he can cling to ceilings). Their confrontation will be a battle of the Middle-Eastern superheroes. The cinema I was in contained only a few people in the early morning screening, but those of us who were there were laughing from start to finish.

I’ve always enjoyed Sandler’s comedy style and this film is further evidence of his talent not losing its edge or currency. The film already has a box office gross exceeding $100 million in the US alone.

The director, Dennis Dugan, has done a more than competent job keeping the laughs rolling and action moving along. He also gets some smashing cameos from celebrities such as John McEnroe, Mariah Carey alongside the main cast more than ably led by Adam Sandler, John Turturro, Emmanuelle Chriqui and Rob Schneider. I do have a minor reservation that the running time of 113 minutes is just a tiny bit overlong.

It’s interesting how Sandler has bought his Jewish comic sensibilities right to the centre of the American mainstream. In the States this has virtually no bearing on his success, whereas in the UK his ethnicity is probably a little too exotic to be understood or appreciated by the majority of our cinema going public. If you want an uncomplicated laugh make it your business to share the enjoyment of this earthy comedy, it’s well worth your time.

Jade Goody is the Z list celebrity who was just given the news that she has possibly terminal cancer, live on Indian TV’s version of Celebrity Big Brother. It was the cruelest, most vile and despicable thing ever broadcast.

Jade, who is 27, had first become famous in the UK after appearing on the Channel 4 reality show Big Brother in 2002. She went on to become a household name through media coverage, her television programs and the launch of her own products. It seems as if she was loved by the common people. This was soon to turn into hate and ridicule.

This transformation began when she appeared on Big Brother 3. Goody and was a target of ridicule in the British tabloid press for her frightening  level of ignorance. Goody thought that the English city of Cambridge was in London. On being told that Cambridge is in East Anglia, she assumed that this was overseas.

Last year Jade appeared on Britain’s own Celebrity Big Brother television show and was roundly condemned for her apparently racist and bullying behavior towards the Indian film star, Shilpa Shetty . Jade was evicted from the show and universally condemned for her stupidity and racism. Her career lay in tatters as a direct result. It didn’t matter how much she apologized, or how genuine her self-abasement has been. No one in show business in the UK would touch Goody again.

The call to appear on the Indian television show must have appeared like a heaven sent opportunity to earn some money and redeem her reputation for Jade. Apparently, before appearing on  Indian TV Ms. Goody had undergone her insurance health screening and been informed that this had shown she might have something wrong with her, but the actual, devastating news of her cancer was given to her on a phone link up, live on air.

The Indian television show producers excused their actions by stating that Jade Goody had given permission for them to air this and therefore it was OK for them to do so. Shame on them for taking advantage of Jade who is clearly not equipped emotionally or intellectually to defend her best interests.

Jade is not a bright woman, and the temptation for her to appear on the show in India, for a reported $100,000 must have been too big a temptation to resist. To watch her disintegration on the news broadcast was demeaning to us all, broadcasters and viewers alike.

Jade left India to return to the UK for immediate medical treatment and all we can hope for is her speedy and complete recovery. While that happens perhaps the television broadcasters around the world can organize a search for their morals and ethics, which they appear to have lost without trace.

Whatever Jade had done in the past, however stupid she might well be, no one deserves to be treated like this. The television station in India has behaved with appallingly bad taste and demonstrated a total lack of sensitivity and judgment. Will broadcasters stoop to anything to increase their ratings, is there no level of depravity too deep for them?

No one can criticize the Beijing Olympics for their efficiency, scope or scale. It is simply awe inspiring and magnificent. Nevertheless its enormity renders it impersonal and somewhat robotic.

It was refreshing to watch the men’s second round table tennis (ping pong) match between an Austrian and a Croat. One of them, it doesn’t matter which, calmly informed the umpire that he had double hit a shot, and forfeited the point. This honesty was so refreshing it shocks the viewer. The TV announcers, both experts in this sport, then made it clear that this is the level of honesty shown by every participant in table tennis. It’s wonderful to witness that the true Olympian spirit is alive and kicking in the world of ping-pong.

Despite the energetic efforts of the Chinese hosts to smile their way into our hearts there’s something too mechanistic about them and this is strangely disturbing. Have you noticed the young women who participate in the medal awarding ceremonies at every event? All these girls look like a giant cookie cutter originated them. They act in accordance with a totally regimented script.

I was discussing this with someone over the last few days and they suggested that the Chinese authorities must have had their elegant dresses designed and manufactured in one size and the girls were selected to fit the dresses.

It’s odd to see every hand gesture, each smile and every walk to all the podiums to be so exactly choreographed with no deviations whatsoever. It is clearly meant to be charming but the result is faintly disturbing.

When you compound this with the wind machines that kick in, out of camera shot, to give the flags of the medal winning nations an heroic look and you have a display that some feel leaves nothing to chance and to me leaves no humanity.

That is why the other face of these Chinese Olympics was a relief to witness. I don’t rejoice in the fact that their athletic superstar, Liu Xiang, the previous Olympic and World Champion in the 110 meter hurdles had been forced to withdraw at the last moment. His face was a picture of dejection and despair. He was, above all, a human being, reacting like us poor, weak humans do. These moments of humanity are far more appealing than a million men banging drums in regimented harmony.

You have to feel sympathy for Liu Xiang and for China. China Daily, the national newspaper, described the hurdler’s crash from grace as “shattering billions of people’s dream.”

The entire Chinese nation seemed to be crying for Liu as he limped from the track. They didn’t witness Liu rushing into the runner’s call room, dropping to the floor and sobbing for a half-hour with his jacket yanked over his head.

CCTV, The state-run television network broadcast Liu’s coach, Sun Haiping, weeping in his hands. A normally taciturn reporter wiped away tears on the air; robotic anchors discussed this national humiliation in the sonorous tones more befitting a funeral; CCTV’s viewers were treated to Liu in pain graduating to distress and then pulling up lame, all accompanied by violins.

Maybe China’s overwhelming love smothered Liu to the extent that he had no choice but to enter the race although clearly not ready and try to defy reality. After this his only escape, after being unable to beat his body, was to break down, if only to retain his sanity.

“I am still very sad for dropping out of the race and disappointing everyone,” Liu said, “As I have won more and more championships and more and more people have paid attention to me and supported me, I have faced more and more pressure and disruptions to my life. I can’t have happy get-togethers with my friends like other people my age, and I feel the expectation from the entire country at every moment. I know that yesterday everyone was enthusiastically expecting my appearance and I wanted to cross the finish line like I’ve done so many times before. But it really was because of my foot. Please believe me that the sadness and pain that I feel is no less than yours.”

Poor Liu, poor China: If only they understood. For both this man and his country, this injury was probably the best thing that has happened to them at these Olympic games.

Galactic Symphonies is the work of a friend, Stephen John Kalinich and his musical collaborator, Richard Durrant. I always tell you when I am recommending the work of someone known to me. I want you to know that the reason I do so is not because I’m ashamed of the link to the creator, but because I’m so proud to have that link to such brilliant talent.

Stephen John Kalinich is known to me, and most of his friends as Stevie, not because we disrespect him or his huge gifts, but because its a more endearing name, and we all love him.

Stevie has that most precious of gifts, the gift of friendship. He lives by his generous spirit, and sometimes sends me and other friends a message that simply says, “Love”. Yesterday’s text message was, “Happy Sunday!”.

OK, perhaps you think these are the actions of an old hippy,  but if they are, what’s so terrible about someone who puts a bit of a smile on the world’s face?

Galactic Symphonies also puts a smile on our faces, and makes you think, but above all it allows you to feel, it says its all right to smile, cry, hope and to love.

Stevie is a wonderful poet, and wordsmith. His performances in England and America have brought him huge acclaim for his undoubted abilities, passion. His talent now resonaates around the world. As I wrote to Stevie when I heard and watched this DVD / CD of Galactic Symphonies, “you’re a star!”

In 2007 Richard Durrant was comissioned to write and record an album with my friend from California, the famous poet Stephen J Kalinich. The resulting double sided CD/DVD (DAVD) was released at the recent Brighton Festival.

Stephen Kalinich is already widely known for his work as lyricist for Brian Wilson and the Beach Boys. He has also collaborated with dozens of big names as well as performing his poetry live.

Galactic Symphonies uses six of Stephen’s poems with Richard’s soundscapes & live guitar improvisations.

The symphonies are performed with projected artwork and live vj-ing by digital artist Malcolm Buchanan-Dick. This combination was used as the basis for the DVD when a performance was filmed at Ropetacle Arts Centre.

If you want to treat yourself to a wonderful, inventive and emotional journey through music combined with poetry that resonates with your soul then you should visit Steven’s web site where you will find the links to discover more about my friend Stevie and to enable you to purchase this outstanding piece of work.

Stevie’s web site address is;

www.stephenkalinich.com/

Galactic Symphonies is on DAVD (LongMan048CD/DVD)

I know when I’m awake because people send me invoices and other people phone to aggravate me. I know when I’m dreaming because beautiful women do wonderful things with me, and don’t ask for anything in return.

Imagine my astonishment over this weekend. I must be asleep but it feels like I’m awake. In my dream there was an Olympics going on in China and during the space of just a few hours Team GB managed to win so many medals that the country became third in the medal table for the whole, entire world.

Admittedly a great many of these medals were in events on the water, in the water and sitting down, but nevertheless who’s to say that it’s any less valid to win a medal rowing or cycling than it is to do so running or jumping.

Team GB even won a medal on the pommel horse in gymnastics and that has never happened before. In fact many of us in this sceptered isle even knew such an implement existed before today. Suddenly we found ourselves debating the merits of the young man’s velocity and length of spins as if we had any clue what we’re talking about.

I don’t exactly know when the British Team became Team GB, but if the results of a simple name change can enhance our results so dramatically they can call our team the Brit Pack.

What’s especially gratifying to me is that now we, as a nation, can stop pretending that we’re gallant losers, and, as when we had an empire, we can assume our more natural arrogance. We want to win just like every other country, and it’s so great when we do.

We love it when our competitors are correctly upset when they didn’t do as well as they could. If they do their best and lose then let’s find someone else who might be better.

We are thrilled to see our best and bravest say they’re in the contest to win and second is nowhere.

Meanwhile, can they stop the Olympics right now, while we’re near the top?

Recently I went for lunch at Pinewood Film Studios. I used to have an office there during the late 70’s. I more or less grew up there as a filmmaker and it holds many memories, fond and otherwise.

This is the story of the big bet. We should preface this story by stating that I don’t usually bet, except on sure things like Manchester United.

I was just finishing up work after a couple of years producing The Kids Are Alright with The Who. We had our production offices in the studio and the film was winding down. I was thinking of my next project and, as is the case periodically, the film industry was going through one of its stranger phases. Bad films were being commissioned and good ones were not.

I had lunch that day with my executive producer, the late, very nice, Sydney Rose. He was a lovely guy, short of stature, but big of heart. I decided to have a bit of fun.

I bet Sydney $1,000 that I could get a studio to finance my next film even if it had no story, script or stars. He laughed and told me I was talking nonsense, and he didn’t understand that, without further notice, I had started into instant betting action.

I knew people on other tables in the restaurant would listen as closely as they could. I steered Sydney towards asking me what film I would be making next. In a stage whisper I leaned toward him, “I have this story which is sensational, it’s top secret.” You could almost feel the ears of several producers on other tables turning into giant receiving dishes.

Sydney begged for more information, but I just waffled in response mentioning it was, “Rock and roll meets science fiction, and it was about huge issues.”

Of course, at this stage, there was no story, and I had no ideas whatsoever. “This is going to be the biggest British film of the year.” I said, “I’d like to get involved with you on it,” said Sydney, “It’s too big for you Sydney, its budget is going to be more than $14 million (a huge fortune in the 70’s, although it was all an entire fiction) and that’s out of your league.” Sydney immediately left the restaurant to see if he could get some big money arranged.

By the time I returned to my office there were several messages from interested producers who wanted to discuss my new project. Amongst them was one from a lady called Sylvia Anderson. She had been half of the team that had made such wonderful television shows like, Space 1999, Thunderbirds, Joe 90, and UFO’s.

After a while I wrote a proper story outline for the proposed film and called it, “Rock On.” Goldcrest, then becoming a big production company had invested in the film’s development and so had PolyGram. Their interest was followed by offers from Warner Brothers, Casablanca, Columbia and Paramount Pictures. We weren’t even trying to pursue any of these but by then we couldn’t resist the lure of the filthy lucre.

It all grow like topsy and before you knew it there were deals in place, money on tap and me writing like a banshee in a snowy mountain retreat with Ken Russell optioned to direct it when ready. It’s a whole other story what happened on the film thereafter, but it involved everyone from the Rolling Stones to Michael Jackson, all of which I thought was pretty impressive seeing as how it all had started as a joke.

Like such stories often do, this one started to unravel and began to look like it would end in tears. My executives spent some of the development money on fine wines and fancy hotel rooms in exotic locales, and I ended up with part of their company I didn’t want.

After some heroically bad decisions in Los Angeles we found ourselves back in London. I got a phone call from the office of one of the two executives on the project. She told me that her boss, Peter, had not turned up for a very important meeting with their bankers, and she had phoned his home and there was no response. These were the pre mobile phone days, and she pleaded with me to go to his house and check if he was OK. The clear feeling was that he might have committed suicide.

I admit I was reluctant to help with Peter, a man who had since caused us all such aggravation by spending our budget on his good time, but my good nature got the better of me and I dropped what I was doing and rushed to the address. It was a cottage in the country in the grounds of a beautiful mansion. I managed to gain entry via the owner of the big house and the cottage was in total darkness and ominously silent. I rushed from room to room, calling Peter’s name, but still no response. I found his bedroom, and there was no sign of him. There was a note and an empty bottle of pills. The note read, “I’m sorry for all the trouble I’ve caused.”

I rushed out of the cottage and found footprints tracking across the thick summer grass. We called the police who realized that this was serious. They rushed over just in time to see Peter being driven back to the cottage by the gardener in his small truck, Peter, incongruously perched in his suit, shirt and tie, chewing his nails and holding his briefcase on his lap. He smiled at me as if this were just a normal day as I drove him back to his anxious colleagues at Pinewood. He apologized again, I said, “You silly bastard, you couldn’t even do that right!” It was a cruel thing to say, but I wanted to shock him.

At the studio I ran into my friend Sydney, the chap I’d had the bet with. I told him how he had lost the bet, and typical of the industry, he wheedled out of it by dint of some non-existent small print.

There are many such stories of the entertainment industry like this I will share with you in the future. I look around the studio today and wonder if they still have so much fun?