Lying in Ian Fleming’s bed at 4 am unable to sleep I started to wonder what he would think of our visit to his home…..
“Some rum types at Goldeneye. The man is there to write about a new property development there, plan is to build and sell houses I gather. The woman, too scrawny for me, is writing a book about ageing. Can you imagine anything less thrilling? And at my desk. She spends most of the day there tapping away.
They have so far failed to get into the rhythm most suited to the tropics. Everyone knows drinks start at 11am. They sometimes don’t even have a cocktail until 7pm. And then with dinner they drink wine. That’s not a proper drink. And instead of spending all afternoon asleep, they seem to work or read. He at least has had the sense to read nothing but my books for three days. She has finally stopped reading Dorothy Parker and picked up Dr No. About time. Where does she think she is? The Algonquin?
He is at least a proper bloke who drinks proper tea. And at the proper hour. She seems to drink something green at all times of the day. Both of them have a startlingly odd habit first thing in the morning. They get up and go to the beach, stark naked, and do some sort of ritual exercise which they repeat six times on each side. It can’t be good for you.
Still the old place looks good and I suppose it’s nice to have a writer at my desk again, even if she’s a woman. Noel would not be amused.”
Whatever Messrs Fleming and Coward would have thought I have loved writing at his desk and reading words he wrote there. As I read Dr No I can almost hear him tapping out the words at his gold-plated typewriter, looking forward to drinks time.
Copyright: Helena Frith Powell 2007