Starstruck

Today is the 200th Anniversary of the opening of the Theatre Royal, Brighton. Listening to an article about this event on the radio today, I was reminded about the many great performances I have seen there. This grand and opulent theatre is a favoured venue for many pre West End runs of major productions, and there is often a big name appearing in the cast of some new or established play. In 1978 I was privileged to see Ingrid Bergman perform in N C Hunter's Waters of the Moon. My goodness, that woman had genuine star quality – you often hear about such things but it's very rare that you actually experience it. From the moment Bergman made her entrance on stage, there was a strange tingle in the air like electricity crackling around the proscenium arch. There was a luminescence about her which appeared to transcend normal human qualities. I felt a bit sorry for the other performers who were all completely acted off the stage. They didn't stand a chance.

Although it was a thrill to see many famous faces performing (I even saw Joan Collins struggling hard to cope with comedy as the phoney aristocrat in The Last of Mrs Cheney), it was usually even more fun to spot the other 'names' amongst the audience. The Theatre Royal Brighton is a good place to build up your portfolio for name-dropping. I once had a half pint of lager knocked over by Dame Flora Robson. It was an accident of course; she turned to speak to someone and caught it with her handbag (yes, a hand-bhaag?). So regal was she that she didn't even notice and swept away unaware that she now owed me eighty pence.

One starry night I sat next to David Bowie. We'd gone to see Eric Idle's play Pass the Butler starring the now tragically demised Willie Rushton, and Bowie was there with Idle and a couple of other faces whom I don't remember now. We'd spotted them in the bar having pre-curtain drinks, but I couldn't believe it when their party took their seats next to us. It was a very funny play and I remember Eric Idle roaring with laughter throughout – and he wrote it! In the interval I queued at the bar next to Bowie himself, both of us ordering pints of Bass. This shocked me slightly – he was such a GOD to me that I would have expected him to have ordered Ambrosia instead. He spoke to me that night; my claim to fame.

There are lots of moments like this, living in Brighton. Even our dog Pikey had her moment of glory. She was once kicked by the runner Steve Ovett – then at the height of his fame. He often used to train around the streets of Brighton and one morning was running past our flat when I was returning with Pikey from the park. As he thundered by, his foot kicked back and he accidentally caught Pikey under the chin giving her a bit of a start (she'd been daydreaming up to that point). Like Dame Flora with my lager, Steve didn't even notice and carried on his way, resolved and determined. We didn't mind – he had just won a gold medal at the Moscow Olympics and I don't think Pikey washed her chin for weeks. Here is a picture of her: