There's Something I've Been Dying to Tell You (10 page)

The doctor on duty came to visit and between the three of them they explained that the pain was being caused by the cancer trying to fight back against the chemo, so the therapy must have been doing something right at that time. They reminded me that in fact, despite my pains, the cancer had been reduced and the tumour in the colon was shrinking. I went home to continue my self-taught regime of pain management with a real feeling that I would crack this.

8

HIGH DAYS AND HOLIDAYS

I was determined to crack this and not let it rule my life. If someone had told me a year ago that I would not work as an actress for a year I think I would have keeled over and fallen off the twig. But here I am not acting but still getting out there and giving it some wellie. Over the years I have always tried to do as many different things as possible, be it for work or pleasure. Travelling has always been a favourite and I just wish I had done more of it. Obviously, my writing has saved my life and kept me positive. I have loved writing my second novel
The Boy I Love
which is due out in January 2015. I apologise for the plug but ignorance is not bliss, you need to know about my efforts! And I was delighted to be asked to do this book too which has seen me up at 5 a.m. in the morning tip tapping away.

At least I can say I am not working as an actress because I have been fighting off cancer, rather than having had to reach a point in my career where nobody wants me because of my age. Age is a problem. There are too many of us now who are reaching, or have reached, their golden sixties, and there are just not enough roles to go round. I used to think that if I could just keep going until I was in my sixties all the competition would have fallen by the wayside and it would just be me and Miss Marple. Looking back over this year I have been able to distance myself from that old world and managed, I hope, to get a less impassioned view of my world.

It has always been complicated in that in the old days the theatre was regarded as so much more important than TV or films, and there is a residue of that attitude, I think. When I did the Oxo commercials in the eighties and nineties there were several directors and casting directors who would never even bother to see me because I was regarded as a TV personality. Well, how that has all changed in the last ten years. There is hardly anything on television that does not feature a ‘personality’ or the new buzz word ‘celebrity’, how I hate it. It is an insult to all the hardworking actors out there who used to be the mainstay of television. It is all about the face of the moment, even if it only lasts five minutes. When I watch Alibi or Gold there are so many wonderful actors to watch, and not just as the star of a show. The supporting roles were always filled with wonderful characters we all knew and trusted too.

Interestingly, this divide also used to happen between film and television actors too. More so in America where you would hear a film actor (out of work naturally) announce grandly, ‘Oh my God I would never do episodic – it would ruin my film career!’ Episodic refers to any kind of TV serial. As I say, they usually were working as a waiter or waitress at the time. But that has all changed in the last few years and now American TV produces some of the best drama in the world. But where is the UK in all this? Still filling three-quarters of screen time with ‘celebrities’ in reality shows, because it is easy and cheap. It breaks my heart. Of course there is room for reality shows, but constant, non-stop wall-to-wall moving wallpaper?

I was asked to present an award at the Olivier Awards 2013 in the West End. These are the awards for Theatreland, so I was very chuffed to think I was still considered worthy of mixing with the proper actors. When I was doing panto in Bradford, that winter, I became close to the lovely actors playing the ugly sisters. Well, I already knew Brian Godfrey but not Ben Stock, who is a super young actor. One evening a whole gang of Ben’s friends came to the show and I met a guy called Julian Bird, who is the chief executive of the Society of London Theatre and Theatrical Management Association and runs the Olivier Awards.

‘How fortuitous to meet you, Lynda. We would love to invite you to present an award for us if you would consider it?’

‘Would I? Not half!’

The gong was for best male performance in a musical which was to be awarded to Michael Ball in
Sweeney Todd
, no less. I knew Michael so that was an added bonus, and the cherry on the cake was I would present the award with Brian May who I know because his wife, Anita Dobson, who needs no introduction from me, took over from me in
Calendar Girls
.

I was so nervous as the night drew closer, and was encouraged to hear that Brian was also having stage fright. When we met up on the night we had very cleverly managed, without intending to, to colour co-ordinate ourselves into black and white, and though I say so myself I thought we looked rather smart!

I had such a good evening because I didn’t care what anybody thought of me or whether I had a job to match those of the fine actors and actresses who surrounded me because actually I did have a fantastic job to go into, which was
A Passionate Woman
, and at that time I couldn’t wait to show the world what I could do.

I always felt that
Calendar Girls
did not get the appreciation it deserved because it was such a commercial success. Once again we hit the snob button because some people seem to think that making money is not the ‘done thing’. It is considered better to appear in a financial flop that is ‘true drama, dear’, than a play that played to full houses for four years and drew standing ovations!

I was thrilled to be made privy to the plans to turn the play into a musical. David Pugh told me that they were working with the original creator of
Calendar Girls
, the writer Tim Firth, on the project and I thought it was a terrific idea. Sure enough the work has been progressing and at the beginning of July 2014 David rang and asked me if I would like to hear a couple of songs from the show that Tim and Gary had written. One of them was entitled ‘To My Russian Friend’ and it sees my original character, Chris, singing to a bottle of vodka. Not wanting to appear ignorant and ask, ‘Who the hell is Gary?’ I trotted along to a studio in North London somewhere, and waited to be enlightened. Boy, was I enlightened! In through the door came Gary Barlow who sat down at the piano and sang to me! Me, little old lady with a stoma bag, being serenaded by Gary Barlow. All I can say is Take That and shove it up your jumper, Mrs.

It was brilliant, absolutely wonderful, and a week later I watched a workshop with tears rolling down my face, it was so moving and the cast were all perfect. I know I must sound so theatrical and lovey-like, but sometimes, folks, you see something being created, and it is so inspiring, and it makes me realise how lucky I am to do something I still love so much. For all the bullshit in the business, there are also incredible moments of brilliance and teamwork, and lifelong friendships made.

Talking of lifelong friends, my bridesmaid three times over, and lovely friend Lynda La Plante, was recently interviewed about her new book and she also talked about a play she has written which will go into production next year. It is called
Murder Weekend
and stars Elaine Paige, Christopher Biggins, Lesley Joseph and me. She had already mentioned it to me but I explained that I would probably have to be ruled out because no one would insure me with cancer. ‘I will pay for your insurance, Bellie.’ (That is my nickname by the way, rather apt bearing in mind my stomach problems. Oh the irony.) Bless her cotton socks for that kind of loyalty. Friendships have always been important to me but never more so than now I was going through something so daunting as cancer treatment.

Another dear friend is Helen Worth, of
Corrie
fame. Here is another very talented actress and to my great delight she got married on 6 April 2013 at St James’s in Piccadilly, with a fantastic reception at The Ritz, no less. It was a wonderful day, though dare I whisper, full of traps, because I absolutely did not want to call any of the
Corrie
actors by their character names – which is so easy to do when you become so familiar with their characters and the world they create in these programmes, but a heinous sin in my book. After a couple of glasses of champagne I had to keep stopping for a second before I introduced anyone to anyone and re-run their names through my head! It was a nightmare. Helen had been on her own far too long in my opinion, so it was jolly good to see her snapped up by the handsome, and very talented music teacher and choir master, Mr Trevor Dawson. Take a bow, sir, and congratulations to them both.

With so much of my time now taken up with my treatment, I was over the moon to receive another lovely invitation in April 2014 to present an award at the British Craft Awards. So I am not completely forgotten, I thought to myself. I am a great supporter of the production team on any television show or film. For years they were sort of treated like second-class citizens. The big boys – the cinematographers and art director and the like – get all the attention in the spotlight but the guys making the props, the wardrobe lady sewing the hems and the hair and make-up girls and boys who have to wrestle with a smelly, still drunk, actor or film star at five in the morning should be acknowledged too. I was therefore thrilled to be involved in this ceremony to honour their talents.

One of the decisions Michael and I made when we got married was that we would make time to travel. We both loved the same kind of places and the same luxury! We are not campers or walkers I am afraid, we love luxury and retreats. This can make the holiday rather expensive so my husband is often on the laptop for days scanning possible bargains. We have been very lucky sometimes and because of a job I can manage to wrangle a deal, though I hate those people who spend their entire lives trying to get everything for nothing.

In May 2012 we set off for Malaysia. Having finished the final tour of
Calendar Girls
, and wrestled with our court case, we were in dire need of peace and quiet. Thanks to a lovely lady called Kathryn Peel who has a PR company called Ophir, which deals in luxury travel, we booked to go to two different spa resorts. The first was on the east coast of Malaysia and called Tanjong Jara. The second spa was on a small island off the west coast of the mainland called Pangkor Laut, which we went to afterwards. Both were part of a group owned by a Chinese company called YTL and we were so impressed with their whole ethos.

Tanjong Jara was wilder and more natural than Pangkor Laut. Hidden up a long drive in thick leafy vegetation, with the usual wood and rattan villas, there were beautifully laid out paths down to the sea and round the resort. There was a hidden oasis where a discreet bar by a pool could be found and there were tall palm trees swaying above us. One could walk along a practically deserted beach, as the waves crashed onto the shore, and imagine life on a desert island. We were very lucky to be upgraded to a beach front villa. I was primarily there to write my first novel
Tell Me Tomorrow
. I had just under three weeks to break the back of the manuscript, so time was precious. We made a plan where I would rise really early, before the sun rose in fact, and start on the laptop. I would sit on the veranda of the villa and watch the sun rise, and the birds dip and dive above and, most exciting of all, the arrival of the large monitor lizards waddling along the seashore, their huge tales flicking sand behind them. It was like being in a Hemingway novel writing my own novel. Sometimes when I couldn’t write and I gazed out to sea, desperate for inspiration, my eye would be caught by the activities of a huge spider weaving a web just above my head. I did not find that quite so inspiring, though, and would leap up and flap it away. What a wuss!

Michael and I would walk across to the restaurant and have breakfast together and then he would take off up the beach until he was no more than a pink speck on the horizon. He loves to wear pink shirts so he was always easy to spot. I would try to write until at least two in the afternoon and then allow myself some sunbathing and a snooze. We ate dinner really early, which was always delicious, and I became addicted to cream coconut prawns.

We would return to our villa and climb into this impossibly huge bed and watch English TV on the laptop, because Michael had this ingenious device called a Slingbox. I know it must sound so unimaginative to some of you but watching TV is the way Michael falls asleep while I read. However, it is sometimes difficult to concentrate on a book when you are writing one at the same time so I was able to succumb to the joys of
Coronation Street
from afar.

There were some wonderful moments while we were there, especially when we were given the lovers’ welcome by the locals. You are King and Queen for the day. Every breakfast time Michael and I had watched with glee as poor unsuspecting couples were being covered with garlands of flowers and walked round the gardens with funny hats on. It was great fun really, but very loud, with loads of chanting and drum banging. One morning as we were chomping our way through a gorgeous pile of fresh fruit, we remarked on the approaching band and laughed to ourselves as we looked around for today’s recipients of the flower power. Oh dear, they were marching determinedly towards our table. Michael tried to get up and leave but it was too late. A hand on the shoulder and he was back in his seat covered in an array of foliage which actually, I must say, matched his pink shirt perfectly. Talk about colour coordinated. In a flash we were transformed into a cross between amiable pirates, with our printed scarves, and tribal warriors with our flowers and spears. Off we went to the cheers of the rest of the guests (you wait, I thought), round and round the garden, under and over ponds and streams, until we reached the ultimate destination, which was a fountain where we were doused liberally in water. Oh joy!