I have always been so incredibly lucky. I've met the Queen, Jackie Kennedy, Bette Davis, Robert Mugabe and every postwar prime minister. I had the most wonderful marriage to Barker. His real name was Alan, but I always called him Barker. And, most recently, I met this awfully nice gal from Macmillan, who said she would give me thousands of pounds for just talking into a microphone. I did suggest to her it might be a good idea to get someone to edit what I said and make it less of a ramble, but she didn't seem to think that mattered. My hearing isn't quite what it was these days, but I think she said something like: "You're 92 and we need to get this book out asap." Cheeky blighter. I flicked her a V sign for that.
My childhood wasn't terribly happy. Neither of my parents loved me very much and I was often left to roam Hyde Park on my own. I was made to play with Jeremy Thorpe, who was a horrid little boy, so I was rather relieved when my parents lost all their money in the Wall Street crash and were forced to move to a squalid little mansion in Kent, with only one field and a tennis court. I was a terribly naughty girl, always getting into trouble for eating too many strawberries.
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