At 84, John Mortimer is still thrilled by his latest theatrical success, appalled by the cult of ‘health and fitness’ and sorry that the Labour party he loved has vanished.
At 84, John Mortimer is still thrilled by his latest theatrical success, appalled by the cult of ‘health and fitness’ and sorry that the Labour party he loved has vanished. By Lloyd Evans
The pubs in Paddington open at 8 a.m. It was a glorious winter’s morning and though I was tempted I decided against a pick-me-up. I was on my way to interview John Mortimer, the socialist bon viveur who famously enjoys a glass of champagne at sunrise, and it seemed disrespectful to arrive with a sullied palate. Climbing soberly aboard the 8.30 for Henley, I sped towards Oxfordshire. At the station I hired a cab driven by an Indian who fed me titbits of local information as we threaded through the country lanes. ‘Rich area round here. Everybody is a somebody.’ As we passed Stonor Park he jerked his head. ‘There’s where Saint Edmund Champion had his printing press. He was attacking other religions innit.’ The previous night Sir John had dictated directions to me in his soft, frail, fluting voice. They were more effective as poetry than geography. ‘Go left past Jeremy Paxman,’ he’d told me. ‘Follow an avenue of tall trees and watch out for a “road narrows” sign. Whatever happens, don’t pass that sign or you’ll be lost for all eternity.’ Even before we passed the sign we were lost, but instead of eternity we found a friendly dog-walker who knew our destination. She pointed through the trees to a strange, fairytale structure with bright yellow windows and a pointy green roof.
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