More years ago, than I care to remember, the wonderful actress Lucille Copland and I had just finished a film together. Darling Lucille. The jet-set followed her like a flock of migrating birds. We were sat in brilliant sunshine on the terrace of Le Bleu in...
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More years ago, than I care to remember, the wonderful actress Lucille Copland and I had just finished a film together. Darling Lucille. The jet-set followed her like a flock of migrating birds. We were sat in brilliant sunshine on the terrace of Le Bleu in Monaco eating tiny toasts with Foie Gras and sipping pink champagne with views across the sea. It was a day before Christmas Eve and our fondest delight in each other’s company together with the sheer brilliance of the location, the sun and birds singing, has stayed in my mind. Always. There have been many Christmases since, many of them forgettable, and, hopefully, more to come, but that memory of Christmas in the south of France would always be warm, golden and pleasurable. My first Noel in the house was unexpected. Two days before the big day, I was crunched over thin ice-fringed puddles, stamping frozen feet trying to shield myself from a cold wind while admiring three large fir trees which had just been planted in the garden. T
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