Have I ever told you about the girl I met at Queen’s University, Belfast, in 1967?
I probably have because I think about her quite a lot. I was a teenage student and so was she. I had come over to Northern Ireland from Oxford to take part in a university debating competition.
We only met the once and for an hour or so. We just chatted, but it was wonderful. She was wonderful.
More about my Belfast belle in a moment.
Immediately, and for a reason I will come to, I want to celebrate the great American singer and dancer, Liza Minnelli. Daughter of Judy Garland and film director Vincente Minnelli, Liza-with-a-Z has just turned 80 and published a rather marvellous memoir, Kids, Wait Till You Hear This!, based on conversations with her friend and fellow performer, Michael Feinstein.
She is not a well woman these days but, in her prime, in my book, when it comes to putting over a song with the ultimate in spine-tingling pizazz, Minnelli was unmatched.
I saw her at the height of her powers at the London Palladium in 1986 and met her briefly after the show. I met her next 17 years later – on Thursday, 12th June 2003, to be exact.
I was acting as MC at a charity gala at Grosvenor House in London. It was an evening of memorable encounters – the first of which was with the actress and model, Elizabeth Hurley, who kindly agreed to help me draw the raffle.
This we did halfway up the grand staircase in the Great Room: me in the middle, Elizabeth on one side and the then Prime Minister’s wife, Cherie Blair, on the other.
‘Here they are,’ I announced with a flourish, ‘Elizabeth Hurley, cutie, and Cherie Booth QC.’ The crowd cheered indulgently as we drew ticket after ticket.
There are too many prizes in every raffle in my experience, but we did our best. Just as we were nearing the end, I felt a hand tugging at my trousers and heard an American voice hissing at me: ‘Gyles. Gyles! We’ve got royalty here. American royalty.’ I looked down and there was Ruby Wax, on her knees by my knees. ‘Come on, kid. Get done with the raffle. Liza Minnelli is waiting.’
And so it proved. Raffle done, Ruby dragged me, Cherie (plus two-man police escort) and Elizabeth up the stairs and into the midst of the milling throng of revellers. ‘Where is she?’ shrieked Ruby. ‘She’s here’s somewhere. Where the f**k’s she gone?’
In the middle of the melee we found her, slumped in a wheelchair, wrapped in a rug, wearing dark glasses and clearly in a state of desperation. She reached out her hand towards mine.
‘I need the john,’ she gasped.
‘It’s only pee-pee,’ said a high-pitched voice above her. It was David Gest, her smooth-checked, orange-faced fourth husband, who shortly afterwards turned out to be a wrong ’un and tried to sue her for $10 million during their acrimonious divorce. ‘It’s only pee-pee,’ repeated David. ‘Don’t worry about it.’
‘I need the john now,’ squawked Liza, ‘Now, I tell you.’
‘Fear not,’ I cried. ‘Cherie is here, accompanied by two of Downing Street’s finest police officers. We’ll sort you out.’
And we did. Cherie’s security guys created a path to the lift, we found our way to the floor we needed, we pushed Liza and David through the door to the ladies and waited in the corridor outside.
Minutes later, David wheeled Liza out to join us. As she reappeared, she took off her dark glasses in triumph. ‘It wasn’t just pee-pee.’ She looked up at David and snarled, ‘He knows nothing.’
But, over dinner, Liza did teach me something. She talked about her failed marriages – especially her first, to Peter Allen, who turned out to be gay – and about her love affairs, especially her brief fling with Peter Sellers in 1973. She and Sellers announced their engagement eleven days after they first met.
When I laughed, Liza said, ‘Don’t laugh. It was real at the time. If it feels like love, it is love. Don’t dismiss it, even if it doesn’t last. If you know you’re in love, even if it’s only for two seconds, it’s still real. In the moment, every love matters. Never forget it.’
Which is why I thought of Liza the other day, when I was doing a book signing and an elderly man came up to get a copy of one of my books inscribed. He had a Belfast accent and I said to him casually, ‘I left my heart in Belfast many years ago.’
He replied, ‘I know. I know the girl you lost it to. My wife is her best friend and she hasn’t forgotten you either.’
Gyles Brandreth’s Rosebud podcast is out now
