There's Something I've Been Dying to Tell You (12 page)

‘Not at all,’ replied Ken. ‘It is actually cheaper to buy a magnum if you think about it. We were bound to have at least two bottles of wine and as the wine I chose was 68 euros a bottle, two would have been 138 euros, and the magnum worked out at 125!’

Happy days!

We had another spectacular meal and rolled home to bed. Every moment of that week is etched in my mind. I could have sat on the terrace for the rest of my life. I’d love to think that maybe one day we could go back, if my fate could be so kind as to allow it.

9

TASTY TRAVELS

June 2012

After the thrill of Malaysia it was difficult to settle. It is always the same, isn’t it? You come back from holiday and just want to go away again. Well, I was incredibly fortunate to be offered a series for ITV called
My Tasty Travels
. It involved driving round Britain in a sixties’ camper van visiting wonderful holiday spots and learning about what we all get up to in our country towns. Each episode would finish with me taking on a cookery challenge. Like a typical actor I jumped at the chance, completely ignoring any warning voice in my head suggesting I might not be able to rise to the challenge. Me? Cooking? Pah, of course I was up for it.

It was agreed that Michael would be my driver and get me from A to B when I was not actually driving the van. Now, readers, the camper van was a piece of work. I had no idea how loved and cherished they are. Indeed, how expensive they are! We were in some market in Surrey and there was a board full of cards with camper vans for sale dating back to the early sixties and some of these vehicles were up for thousands of pounds. ITV had found me a lovely blue VW with all its bits in place, although the brakes left a lot to be desired. I found this out when we arrived in places like Devon and Cornwall and the director wanted me to perch on a cliff somewhere. I would haul on the handbrake and sit very still with my hand on the door handle ready to jump if necessary.

So many happy hours did we spend in the narrow lanes deep in the heart of the English countryside, with me driving at thirty miles an hour in front of a queue of very irate holidaymakers who were desperate to get past me. I was sworn at so many times. One day it was all too much and I responded to a driver who was tooting his horn at me endlessly with the finger. To my horror, as the car squeezed through, I realised it was a very jolly family of Mum and Dad, and two kids in the back, who were all waving at me and pointing at the van and giving me the thumbs up. I quickly waved back, furiously hoping my mistake had not been noticed.

The trouble is the world is divided between camper van lovers and those who just hate the whole idea. But for the duration of the series I was a member of this exclusive club and drove my van with pride. I nicknamed the van Batty, but kept forgetting whether it was male or female, so there is a great game to be had if you ever catch the series repeated on Gold or something, spotting how many times I change the sex of the camper van! It was such fun, though, and the directors would send me off on my own with a camera screwed to the window screen and a microphone up my jumper, and I would sail along these country lanes talking to my van and discussing all sorts of things as they came into my head. I had to try hard not to swear sometimes, and remember not to say anything rude about any of the team I was working with. Lots of different directors worked on the series and only one of them was insufferable, and I am afraid I did pass a few comments about him, but luckily for me the editor was on my side and spliced the offending comments out of the show.

The series began at Bovey Castle which was very grand. Start as you mean to go on, I say. However, sadly it did not quite live up to its very grand appearance. It was not entirely the fault of the hotel but the classic turn of the English weather. Although it was June, it was pouring with rain when we arrived and absolutely freezing. We were shown to our very beautiful room and did not really notice the chill too much, but by the time we got downstairs to have dinner it was creeping up on us. We were shown into a huge dining room which was incredibly grand, with gorgeous chandeliers and pristine white tablecloths and beautifully folded napkins. The trouble was it was empty but for one couple lost in a sea of white linen and crystal glass!

‘Sit anywhere you like,’ said the waiter smiling sadly. We made a beeline for a radiator that Michael had spotted in the corner, but as we sat down and put our hands out to warm them we realised it was turned off! We enquired of the waiter if it was possible to turn it on, and the inevitable response was negative, as the heating had been turned off for the summer. I have never eaten a three course dinner so fast in my life, and we did not bother with coffee. We arrived in our room to yet more arctic conditions. Michael rang down and asked for a heater which did arrive, thank God, and we snuggled into bed in T-shirts and jumpers. In the morning it took too long to heat up the room so I was desperately trying to decide what to wear for filming that day so I could get some clothes on. Doing my make-up and hair in a cold and drafty bathroom was no fun.

It was while filming this series that I first learned the difference between working on a drama and working for the documentary side of things. This was very much do it yourself, with a small crew consisting of cameraman, sound man, director and assistant, plus the producer who would pop in from time to time. I did my own make-up and hair and provided my own clothes, which proved quite a feat, as we did so many different episodes and the weather drove me mad! The hair was quite a problem as well, as it was always windy or raining and I did not possess hats. Thank goodness a couple of the coats I managed to acquire from Isme had hoods. In fact, I thought I instigated a bit of a coup all round in the wardrobe department by getting Isme to provide me with clothes. I got the benefit of personal shopping and they got the credit. I had a lovely time going to their offices and picking out my outfits. It was a good way of using my contract to the full. We aim to please!

One of my early challenges was to make a ‘Chicken of the Woods’ pâté. This involved foraging for the ‘chicken’ which was, in fact, a sort of fungi. I met these two lovely young men and they took me off to the woods. The fungi grow on the sides of trees in high banks running alongside the path through the very dense forest. I was very keen to do everything the right way and got very excited when I spotted some, clinging to a branch overhanging the bank. The only way to get to it was to walk round to the top of the bank into a field and then double back and find a hole in the hedge and climb through. I was so busy showing off and chatting to the camera I stepped into a rabbit hole and disappeared into the bush. Take two!

It took some stretching and sawing to get the stuff off but I did it and proudly carried my stash back to the camper van. One thing I learnt about, and absolutely love now, is that wild garlic can be picked so easily if you know where to look, and it is so delicious, much sweeter and more subtle than clove garlic. I made my pâté on a hot plate by the side of the camper van and managed to keep it out of the rain. I cannot tell you how many times in the next few weeks were spent running to and from the van with dishes trying to keep everything dry.

We then went to Petersfield Market and I had to persuade people to try my Chicken of the Woods pâté. Actually I did quite well, and thanks to a very pleasant elderly gentleman who had two portions I won my challenge.

Throughout the series I had one big problem: how to stop myself buying all the produce. Wherever we went I would get very over excited and buy ridiculous things that we would never eat in a million years. I still have cupboards jammed with chutneys and jams, and pickled vegetables. I must say that everywhere we went people were so warm and welcoming and so keen to show off their specialities.

One episode where I did experience a little hostility, or should I say overzealous competitive spirit, was when I went up against the WI. The challenge was for me to make a Victoria sponge to be served at a local school cricket match. To win, mine had to be judged as better than one produced by the ladies of the local WI. Now do not forget, dear readers, I had spent four years of my life playing Chris in
Calendar Girls
. This was territory I understood. The first day’s filming I went for coffee with a group of the WI ladies, and the woman in whose house we were showed me how to make a rhubarb cake. We had a very jolly morning with coffee and cakes and then agreed to meet at the cricket match with our respective cakes.

Well, the crew and I pitched up in this field and set out the little Belling oven, which did not fill me with confidence. I started to make my sponge and guess what? It started to rain! The director Paul Vanesis was getting his knickers in a twist, rain always does this to a film crew. It is what one dreads more than anything. As I put the sponge into the Baby Belling he was already asking me when it would be ready.

‘Well, it will take as long as it takes,’ I snapped. ‘About twenty minutes.’

‘Well, we haven’t got twenty minutes it must be nearly done.’

Sure enough, he lunged at the door fifteen minutes later and as we grappled, the door flew open briefly and my beautiful fluffy Victoria sponge was descending to the bottom of the tin as my sad, weedy voice called out, ‘Nooooo!’ and slammed it shut. But too late, disaster had struck, and my beautiful cake slumped to the bottom of the tin. The worst thing was that across the way the ladies of the WI were sitting in a car watching the entire proceedings with glee. In fact, Michael had arrived just before all this, and parked up only to be told, rather officiously, would he mind moving as he was blocking their view. I was in tears and furious with the director, who was not at all bothered.

‘Don’t panic. We have got a shop one on the side for disasters like this. No one will know the difference,’ he announced airily.

‘Oh yes they will,’ I replied, pointing at the car of ladies waving at me. ‘And anyway, I know it’s a cheat and I won’t do it. This programme should be real and truthful; I will do my best to make the cake look presentable.’ I stomped off to get my raspberry jam which I had made with the help of a lovely lady in her shop the day before. I smeared the whole pot over a very thin layer of sponge and placed the other very thin layer of sponge on top and sprinkled it with icing sugar.

I was so upset and stayed away from my competition until the moment of truth.

Through all this drama the boys had all turned up and looked very smart in their cricket whites. Parents sat around picnic baskets drinking wine and chatting. It was a perfect summer’s evening, except for me it was like a day at the coliseum. Gladiators, stand by your sponges. The WI and I walked towards each other and presented arms. Well, cakes. Theirs, of course, was huge: six inches of perfect sponge. However, if I remember correctly they had used plum jam which is not strictly correct for a Victoria sponge and, I learned afterwards, every one of them had made a cake and they had picked the best one! Six against one, it was hardly fair. While the boys finished their match, the cakes were cut up and labelled red and blue so no one would know which belonged to which party. Then the boys came to the table and each took a slice. I was keeping my ear to the ground listening to the comments. Whether it was because they knew they were being filmed or not, I don’t know, but they were so pompous about it all. They offered up comments like, ‘Mmmm, I like the quality of the sponge on this’ or ‘Quality of the sponge is rather poor but I do like the texture of the jam’.

Needless to say, I lost and the ladies of the WI shook my hand with glee.

‘Bad luck,’ said one woman, hardly able to contain her delight.

Oh well, onwards and upwards. It reminded me of my school report: ‘Lynda tries hard but could do better.’

One of the days that stick in my mind during the filming of
Tasty Travels
is the Watercress Line, when I got to drive a railway engine. I had no idea it would give me such a kick. This special line, which used to carry the watercress from the fields to the centre of London, is an obvious hit with the tourists. It is so beautifully cared for, right down to the period train station, waiting room and little café. I climbed up front and was blasted by the heat from the furnace. A very handsome young man was doing a great job of stoking the engine and another very handsome young man took me through the ropes. As we whizzed along the track I really felt the engine belonged to me. All these fanatics talk about the engines like their beloved mistresses. How they respond to the gentle, but firm touch, blah blah blah . . . but believe me when I hoisted the brake off and pulled on the throttle, it was like talking to a friend! I loved it. I swapped places with the stoker for the return journey and got very hot and bothered throwing the coal in. I cannot imagine what it must have been like for hours on end. But it left a lasting impression, and I intend to take my grandson, Sacha, if possible one day.

We went to Wales which was incredible. The sweep of Cardigan Bay and the ups and downs driving through the valleys was so impressive. It was like a film set. I am not a good sailor but managed to keep it all together when I was taken out by the local rowing club. I had to shout the instructions as we bounced over the waves. The Oxford and Cambridge Boat Race it was not!

They hold a huge seafood and fish fair on the quay in Aberaeron, and my challenge was to make a whole load of mackerel butties and chocolate brownies and sell them to make money for the rowers club. I did incredibly well and was down to my last three brownies. I told the director that maybe we should film me selling the last three as quite a crowd had gathered and it would make a nice ending. Instead she hauled me off to try every bit of fish on every stall in the market, which took forever, so by the time we went back to sell my last three brownies the crowd had gone home! There was a very nice lady with her daughter who offered to buy one, and Michael paid for the other two to get rid of them.