MY father and I were sitting at one of the multitudinous bars of the New Inn in Gloucester, when a pretty, middle-aged waitress bustled in with a glass of Champagne. She was as brim-full of fun as the glass was of bubbly. The drink suited her and I remarked on the fact.
She drew herself up to her full height of four-foot-nothing, raised her glass and said: “Yes, Dearie. I was born to be a duchess.” With that, she bustled out again.
On her return, my father leaned forward in a conspiratorial manner and asked her: “What happened?”
“What happened to what?”
“The duchess?”
“Oh, that?” She thought for a moment. “The wheels came off.”
Thank you, Ellen, for giving me the title. It has very little to do with the subject matter of the chapters which follow, but it was much too good to waste!
This was how I started what was intended to be my autobiography. It didn’t begin at the beginning and it ended long before the end. Publishers weren’t interested, although – strangely enough – publishers’ sales representatives were. Some of my friends found it amusing. One of them took a copy of the original manuscript on a trip that followed the route I had taken and came back with some valuable advice on clarifying geographical detail.
Of course, 30 years down the line, everything has changed and this is in no way a current travel guide. Remote bits of bush now boast five-star safari camps and Judi Davis’s ‘Tent Travels’ are now the way to go.
But, if you would like to know ‘the way it was’, watch this space. Updates will not necessarily occur at regular intervals – news takes precedence over reminiscences – but my 1972 to 1987 anecdotes will pop up every now and again. I hope you enjoy them.
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