True to herself

I meet Joan Collins at Waterstone’s in Harrods, where she is signing copies of her latest novel, Misfortune’s Daughters. There she is, behind a big table and, although it pains me to say it, she is very much starting to look her age, the poor clapped-out old thing. And her fan base is not what it used to be. Sadly, she signs only one, maybe two novels during the full hour she is there, while the manager and I hop from foot to foot with embarrassment. Believe me, I take no pleasure in saying any of this, especially as Joan is not only a regular Spectator diarist but also an avid and devoted Spectator reader. Chances are, she is reading this, right now, in which case …ha! Got you, Joanie! Has the adorable Percy helped you off the floor and back on to your chair yet? I hope you didn’t take too much of a bump.