Fact or Fiction...Phyl and George.

I was 26 when I wrote my first autobiography. I didn't market it as an autobiography, of course. Who's going to believe that by the age of 26 anyone would have enough material to fill a book?

The m/s kept coming back unread because novice authors are not considered skilled enough to write in the first person - so said all the agents in South Africa at the time.

On opening up the 5th refusal citing this as the reason, I kinda lost it, strode to my computer and wrote back that I didn't give a damn what some people could or could not do - only in what I could do. And I bloody well COULD write in the first person.

Thus began a wonderful relationship with Frances Bond who became my agent, and remained so until her untimely death.

But, we didn't see eye to eye on her perception of two of the characters - Phil and George. She kept telling me to tone them down, and insisted that they were OTT as characters and the kinds of things that happened to them were so bizarre they weren't credible.

It was only after I'd 'fessed up and admitted I hadn't written a novel but a true tale; AND after she had met both Phyl and George, that she admitted that I'd got them to a tee.

So the bit about George being declared pregnant by the RAF doctor in Egypt was perfectly true. As was that of Phyl being introduced to Princess Diana, on her way home from Tesco.

Both m/s and all the photos which proved my point having gone up in smoke it struck me that there are very few people left now to tell Phyl & George stories - so I'm going to do so, here and there. If anyone comes across them they can view them as fiction, or accept them as fact.

George is the Dad who, at a party, persuaded one of the guests to help me with a homework project over the phone; and even called in for some re-enforcement on certain points. The guest was an old friend. His name was John Lennon. The friends were George Harrison and Ringo Starr. (I was given Detention for telling porkies when the teacher asked who'd helped me and I told her.)

Phyl is the Mum who on board a ship once, when a dodgy meal struck the Cabaret suddenly and devastatingly one evening, nonchalantly donned the Captain's jacket and cap and entertained the entire crowd for the allotted hour and a half.

Really?

Well, I've exhausted my cache of pictures which randomly escaped the fire. Got nothing else, from herein in, to prove they even existed. Let alone had all the jolly japes and admirable adventures that was their life story as well as mine.

Am writing up The Tale of Flying Fernando now, so watch out for it. OTT or not - it's a ripping yarn!

Comments

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Flamin' Fernando and his flamin' Glamorous Assistant.

When I was 16 I was living a double life. During term-time I was a convent Boarder in a rather posh school in Australia. I was 'too young' for most things; I wore my hair in two skinny plaits; clumped about in sensible school-shoes; and and was condescended to by everyone in the world who was over 17. But during the long Summer Holidays and the shorter ones in between, I flew home to my tropical island in the sun and lived my real life. In this world I rarely wore shoes; my hair - which had never in my life been cut - flowed freely down my back and over my bum and I wore a frangipani or hibiscus behind one ear. In this world I had been driving for the past two years; smoked cigarettes socially, was rather knowledgeable about wines and whiskey, and was treated no differently to anyone else. It was in this world that my father, asked to do a spot in the annual Xmas Concert down at the Army barracks, airily informed all and sundry that he would be accompanied by his Glamorous As...

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Benefit Street, Brighton.

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