Biggins (22 page)

Now there’s no time and precious few rehearsals. You’re expected to turn up knowing all your lines, your cues, your role. You won’t necessarily know who your fellow cast members will be. But you’re supposed not to care. You just turn up, do it, and go home. No room to get to know people. No room for laughs. I think of all those life-long friendships I have made in long, lovely rehearsals over the years. I don’t make them now because it’s wham, bam and thank you, man. And we all move on, with barely a goodbye.

One more moan? There’s so little money nowadays as well!

What other industry has seen pay slump so far, so fast? Lots of them, I suppose. Lots of us have seen our workplaces change for the worse. I’m not too out of touch to think actors are special. And I know how lucky I was to be signed up in the good old days. I think back to the days when Cilla and I would get it all – new frocks and shoes and jewellery for her each show, new handmade suits and handmade shirts and handmade shoes for me. We’d have cars and handsome chauffeurs ready to pick us up and take us anywhere each night. And we’d get something like £5,000 an episode, thirty long years ago when that kind of money went a very, very long way.

So I’m happy to star with the autocue nowadays. I can read words that are put in front of me. So if it’s a studio-based show, I’m there. Or a panel show or chat show
where I can be myself, ad lib and just say what I think. I’m there for that. Radio? I’m there for that as well.
There’s Nothing Like a Dame
was great fun. Taking over from lovely Lisa Tarbuck for two hours on Christmas Day was hard, but a hoot.

And when lots of work does come in I do have a brand-new secret weapon that sees me through it.

It’s that at the grand old age of 65, I think, I did something I never expected. I gave up alcohol. I gave up the booze and I’ve not looked back. Why did I do it? Two reasons, really. One was in my subconscious. Over the years I realised I’d been seeing what alcohol did to so many people I had loved. I’d seen so many people aged by addiction. Killed by addiction, for some sad souls.

Then I had a clever wake-up call when I had a regular health MOT one year.

‘How do you want to die?’ I was asked.

‘I’m sorry, what?’ I replied, unsure whether I was being offered a specific menu of choice.

‘Do you want to die peacefully in your own bed at a grand old age? Or do you want to die a whole lot sooner, dribbling away in a hospital bed and being looked after by strangers?’

I said that the first option sounded a little bit nicer. He said he couldn’t guarantee it would work out that way. But that there was a simple way to improve my odds.

‘Give up drinking,’ I was told. It was as clear and simple as that. So I did. Why make a fuss? Why not get on with it? And I don’t miss it at all. I sleep better. I’m not as tired. Without any hangovers I have more energy.

Yes, I had a chink of a champagne glass last Christmas.
A sip of red wine at a special Easter lunch. But that’s it. We threw the most amazing party for Neil’s 50th birthday a few years ago. It was on the top of Soho House, the private club in the East End of London closest to our home. It has a swimming pool on the roof, just like something out of
Sex and the City
. The day we had Neil’s party was gloriously sunny and boiling hot. Dozens and dozens of slim, hot, young people were draped around the pool in their part of the club. And in the outdoor area on the other side of the doors from the pool you could find us – dozens and dozens of hot (literally hot, due to the sun) older people, not all of us as slim as we once were. But I bet we had a better time on our side of the fence. We laughed more. We let it go more. It’s another lesson of age. Don’t get so worried about what others think. Dance like no one’s watching, or whatever the phrase is. And, as I said, don’t feel you need to drink to enjoy the moment. I didn’t drink at Neil’s party. And I enjoyed every moment.

So if you’re getting on a bit, if your energy levels are dropping then join me. Give up the booze. Give it a go. It worked for me. I’m not going back now. I need every ounce of energy I can get. Life is for living. I need to keep at it.

Another thing I do like doing nowadays – and what I thrive on – are charity auctions. They’re oxygen to me now. And they can spring some real surprises – like the one I did in the height of
Top Gear
madness in 2015.

I got drafted into the cause by Nick Allot, Cameron Mackintosh’s talented right-hand man. He asked me to help out at a big auction at the Roundhouse in Camden, north London. The Roundhouse charity, which does so much for disadvantaged youngsters, is such a great cause.
It was always going to be a totally worthwhile night. But it turned into a media whirlwind because sitting right there, on my top table, was one Mr Jeremy Clarkson, who was the man of the moment after being suspended from
Top Gear
after reports of him lashing out at a producer on location. Or something. I can’t say I’d read that much about it, if I’m honest.

I can’t say I ever really got Jeremy Clarkson either. I don’t watch the programme. I’m not a petrol head, or whatever they are called. My big question about cars used to be: What colour is it? Now it’s likely to be: Is it easy to get in and out of? So I’d not expected to bond with the man behind the show – and nor, to be fair, had I expected him to bond with me. But you know what? He was enchanting company. He was open and charming and philosophical about the demise of his show. On the other side of our big round table his lovely girlfriend told my lovely Neil exactly what had gone on – you’ll have to ask him for all of that information. And as we were all getting on so well I decided to see if I could gee Jeremy up for a final lot to raise some extra cash.

‘Will you offer anything for the auction?’ I asked, right before I went up to the stage to get it going.

He would and he did. He said he would offer up a seat for what he declared (with a fair few bleeps required if you listen to it online) his last ever lap on the
Top Gear
track in Guildford, I believe.

And it got better. Nick Mason, the Pink Floyd drummer, was on our table with his wife Nettie as well. It turns out he owns some rare gazillion-pound car that again I’d never really heard of. But we added it in to the lot.

I did my very best auctioneer job of whipping up the crowd. I made sure everyone knew how important this charity was. And how great this particular lot would be. Then the bids started to fly. In the end we came down to two – two generous souls with deep pockets, bidding against each other for that final lap with Jeremy.

I knew by then that we were on target to make lots of vitally important money for the charity. And I thought: What a shame only one of these bidders can write a cheque. So I stopped the auction for another quick word with my new friend Mr C.

‘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.

Y
ou 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+ is my favourite gadget in the world. I love the big American series, the box sets, the long-runners. But I'll try it all. Pals and I ring each other to tip each other off about the next best thing to watch. We have marathon viewing sessions when we try to catch up on something we've missed. I love it. What else is good?
Gogglebox
is terrific! I love that show. I was on one of the shows being watched by the chosen viewers one week. How strange is that – to watch yourself as other people are watching you, if that makes sense? If you know
Gogglebox
, you'll know the viewers on it, so it'll come as no surprise that 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.