Low life
In need of a Mary Poppins
Jeffrey Bernard 0 ne day last week I asked Norman if he would remove a photograph of my por- trait from the wall of the bar. I said that I didn't want a picture of me hanging next to one of Jay Landesman. Of course, I wasn't being strictly serious but Norman jumped up on to a bar stool, looking like a stick insect in a lounge suit, screamed for a screwdriver and removed my portrait. It was then taken to the kitchen and for all I know was then put in a dustbin. He is easily upset, but I don't think I would piss in his ear if his brain was on fire.
After that silly scene I went home and I have been here ever since stranded over Easter by non-functioning legs. By Monday I had run out of food and had to make an emergency call to the Social Services peo- ple to rustle up Vera who was, I suppose, having a well earned holiday. Thankfully, she restocked the larder. But what an awful Easter. I can't bear the business of being trapped by my legs. I even watched Mary Poppins and the Grand Prix from Donning- ton Park although I find motor racing incredibly boring. I wonder if this is what the future holds? I need a Mary Poppins to take me walkies.
The good news, though, is that I have got a new flat which I can move into at the end of the month. This will have to be the last move I make. The horror of the move is, as I have said before, far worse than that of divorce which can on occasion be a blessed relief. The flat is on the fourteenth floor of a high rise building and I have been asked what shall I do if the lift breaks down. Jump. This body would fall as gently as an autumn leaf.
But will it get me to Cardiff next Tues- day when Dennis Waterman opens in a six- teen week tour of the play? Travel has become a major problem and what with crutches if the gents is miles away from the stalls and an aisle seat I shall sit it out in the foyer or bar. I saw Waterman play the part in Sydney a year ago and it cost me the Sunday Mirror bread and butter for being absent. There isn't much left to be sacked from or restaurants to be barred from come to that.
On the way back from Cardiff I shall stop over at Lambourn to see a few old friends and I shall call in on that old war horse and hero, Fred Winter. National Hunt racing seems bleak to me without him and the Red Lion in Lambourn must be pretty cold without Flo who has now retired. She was my Mary Poppins 20 years ago and I shall never forget her sadly remi- niscing one day and saying, 'Even the bees don't buzz like they used to.' Maybe it isn't a good idea to go back to Lambourn. It has sad memories as well as racehorses and trainers. I wouldn't want to see my old house again. It must be haunted. And now I must go back to bed again. I only got out of it to write this very brief note because I dread to see the dreaded phrase Jeffrey Bernard is Unwell although I don't mind seeing it in lights outside a theatre.
They tell me that the leading lady in this new production of the play was to be seen in the Coach and Horses a couple of weeks ago. That is what I call rehearsing and becoming word perfect, but then that well known phrase she will utter, 'You make me sick,' isn't hard to learn.
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