It's Only Rock 'n' Roll

by Jo Wood

  The conditions in the slums were in acute contrast to those in Swallows, a development programme in a village six hours’ drive out of Dhaka in north-west Bangladesh, where local workers produced clothing for People Tree. I’ve never been somewhere so far away from what you might call civilization – although Swallows itself is the very definition of civilized. The village is largely run by women and is self-sufficient, with its own school, a crèche, learning programmes and an organic garden. It was such a fantastic, inspiring place.

  I spent four days there, talking with the women, singing and dancing with the children, learning to make chapattis. They also showed me how they made poo sticks, which are basically sticks covered with dried cow dung that are used to light fires, but I passed up the chance to have a go at making some myself. During the trip we also travelled on a boat down the nearby Ganges, where we saw freshwater dolphins, and visited a local market. It was literally like stepping back in time to when Jesus was around: the warren of passageways was lit by lanterns; there were people in long robes; sacks of spices and bunches of herbs; old-fashioned scales on the stalls. It was an amazing trip, and one that opened my eyes to issues I’d known little about.

  In the summer of 2010 I went to San Diego with Jamie and his family for a month’s holiday. I met up with Lorraine and we spent a week together at a spa in Palm Springs called We Care – except they didn’t really care at all, because they starved us and sent us out on hikes fuelled by nothing but fresh juices and colonic irrigation.

  While I was in California I also went to visit my friend Doris La Frenais, wife of the legendary comedy writer Ian and a brilliant, crazy artist herself, who possibly had an even more hedonistic youth than I did. As a belated birthday present, Doris had booked me on a three-day course with a mystic and spiritual leader called Sadhguru. I was a little sceptical (not least because the course was at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Los Angeles – hardly your typical guru hangout) but off I went.

  There were about fifty of us on the course, a mix of Americans, Europeans and Indians. Many were unhappy or had lost their way and were looking to Sadhguru for answers; others, like me, were just curious and open to new ideas. Sadhguru talked to us about how to live a good, positive life and led us in yoga and meditation practice. During one of the group sessions I stuck up my hand and said, ‘Hey, Sadhguru, I’m pretty happy anyway, so what can all this do for me?’ He talked about the importance of yoga and meditation and how, if you do it twice a day, it will bring you to a higher level of consciousness. His philosophy is all about living in the now, rather than dwelling on the past or worrying about the future, because you can do nothing to change what has happened or will happen. It was a great lesson for me. He was an inspiring figure and his charitable Isha Foundation was clearly doing fantastic work in tackling environmental issues in India.

  When he spoke about a pilgrimage he was making to India and the sacred Mount Kailash in Tibet later that year, I put my name down for it straight away. A pilgrimage! It sounded just like the sort of thing you should be doing if you were trying to rediscover yourself.

  I roped in my right-hand woman, Emily, and off we went for a month. We started at Sadhguru’s ashram in India, where we saw his community projects – including Project GreenHands, which has replanted millions of trees in Tamil Nadu – then travelled on to Nepal and Tibet. It was the most exhilarating, eye-opening journey of my life.

  I knew it was going to be quite basic, but I had no idea quite how basic. We drove across miles and miles of Tibetan plain, which looks a lot like the surface of the moon but with herds of yak everywhere, and camped or stayed in local guesthouses along the way. When we got to Mount Kailash we hiked up as far as we could go and watched pilgrims making their way around the mountain, the most devout of them prostrating themselves on the ground and praying at every step. We were told it would take them over a month to circumnavigate the 50-kilometre track.

  There were so many fabulous things about Tibet, but the toilets were definitely not one of them. I won’t dwell on the gory details – suffice to say I could never face using them and always went outside behind a rock (there were no bushes at that altitude). And much as I love curry, by the end of the trip I was struggling to eat it three times a day. But a little discomfort was a small price to pay for the incredible sights we saw and the people we met, and it occurred to me that I would probably never have had such an amazing adventure had I still been married to Ronnie. The two of us had had adventures, but they were nearly always in five-star comfort. Nowadays I’d always take an adventure to some far-flung wilderness over lying on a perfectly manicured beach – although I do still enjoy that, too!

  All this time, the divorce was dragging on and on. It wasn’t Ronnie’s fault, because anytime I had a problem I could pick up the phone and talk to him. I’d vowed to myself I wouldn’t be bitter about the split, so the first Christmas after he’d left I’d invited him to Christmas Eve drinks and caviar with the family. (He turned up with Jimmy White in tow.) We’d been on speaking terms ever since – although it was always me who made the effort. The reason for the delays was lawyers.

  Unsurprisingly, I found the process pretty bruising. I was utterly devastated when, as part of the settlement, I had to put my Organics company into liquidation. It was so precious to me, but there was no way I could afford to finance it without Ronnie as guarantor. I bought back my remaining stock, continued to sell it through my office and started hatching plans for a new company.

  By January 2011, after months of negotiation, we were finally nearing an agreement in the divorce. I was on holiday in Miami with Lorraine when she asked what I was going to do with the money from the settlement. ‘Have you thought about investing it in property?’ she asked.

  The very next day we went to look at apartments by the beach. I was so taken with one of them, in a seventies block by the seafront, that in a moment of madness I put in a crazy offer, never imagining it would be accepted. It was – and even though my divorce was yet to be finalized, I nervously started the process of buying an apartment.

  I finally got the keys in April 2011, just two weeks after our divorce had been agreed. I might have lost a husband, but I had gained an apartment. The place was painted white throughout when I first saw it; it took me two manic weeks, with Lorraine’s help, to transform it into a vintage gem. I was determined not to buy anything new for the place, apart from a bed and a TV; everything else we sourced from second-hand shops and junkyards. With vintage wallpaper throughout – a brown-gold shell design in the main bedroom and a gorgeous pattern of dancing women in the spare room – I indulged all my interior-design fantasies and created a gorgeous retreat that was totally Jo.

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  It is only now, with a few years’ hindsight, that I realize there was nothing to be afraid of outside the golden prison. Nowadays I am completely in control of my life and free to do exactly what I want to do when I want to do it. I get respect for my own achievements. I’m not going to lie – I do miss being absolutely spoilt and receiving the sort of service where people bend over backwards for you. That is wonderful! But if you’re constantly treated like a cosseted child, you can sometimes start to behave like one, too. In that respect, stepping outside the Rolling Stones was a huge growing-up process for me – and I think I have now grown into the person I was meant to be all along. And while I might not fly first class every time, these days, I’ll take freedom and independence over a bit of extra leg-room any day.

  As for my future – well, I’m just taking each day as it comes and enjoying my friends, children and grandchildren. I’d love to get my Organics business up and running again and am currently in talks about a new licensing deal, so watch this space. And hopefully Mrs Paisley’s Lashings will be popping up again sometime soon. And I still want to save the planet and turn everyone organic! As for my love life, if the right man came along then of course I’d consider getting married again. Third time lucky, perhaps? But if he doesn’t, I can honestly sa
y I’m happy just the way I am.

  I was looking back through my diaries while I was writing this book and found a note from my mum, slipped into the pages of 2002. ‘Confucius say, “If you are not happy you must make yourself happy,”’ it read. ‘“It is easier to wear a pair of slippers than try and carpet the whole world.”’

  Looking back now, I can’t imagine where my head was at when I first read that note. At the time I was struggling with Ronnie’s alcoholism after he’d had yet another failed stint in rehab, and our dear friend Chuch had died from a heart attack. I was quite lost, but while I didn’t realize it at the time, it had been clear to those closest to me. Things are very different, these days. Nowadays I am proudly wearing my slippers, day in and day out.

  Ronnie and I rebuilt our friendship slowly. He rang to tell me he was having the most terrible arguments with Katia, and I spoke to him after he was arrested for fighting in the street with her, just to check he was okay. About a year after the split, I went to visit Jamie at his home in Cobham and was taking my grandson Charlie to the movies in nearby Esher when I saw Ronnie sitting in a restaurant window with a young girl. I knew he was renting a house in Surrey (well, it was more of a castle, really) but it was still a shock to see him sitting there. It was the first time I’d seen him in the flesh since he had left and I thought about walking past, but then I said to Charlie, ‘Look, there’s Granddad!’ and we went in to see him. It was all very friendly: the girl was sweet, and Ronnie asked us to join them for a drink, but I told him we had to be getting home. I left the restaurant feeling a little shaken, but glad to have seen Ronnie – and certainly with no sense of regret that we were apart, or longing that we were still together.

  These days Ronnie and I are friends and I’ll happily pick up the phone to him. At the time of writing, he is happy with his latest girlfriend, Sally Humphreys, and has been sober for a year. (We actually met Sally years ago, when Ronnie had an exhibition of his artwork at Drury Lane and she was working at the theatre dressed as Moll Flanders.) Ronnie might have done some shitty things in the past, but when I think back on all those years we spent together, it’s the many good times that I now focus on. It still feels a bit weird when I see him, though; I suppose it always will. He’s just so instantly familiar to me that I look at him and think, Gosh, I loved that man so much for so long, I know every hair on his head, every little thing about his face and hands . . . But it’s like it was another lifetime. I will always love Ronnie, but now it’s with a feeling of warmth and familiarity. Anything more than that has faded.

  Ronnie’s never apologized for what happened either to me or the kids – I don’t think he feels he has anything to apologize for – although he came close at the beginning of 2012. I was round at his house, dropping off some of his belongings, and he was talking about a new girl who was flying in to see him at the weekend.

  ‘I still haven’t found the one, Jo,’ he said, wearily.

  ‘You won’t, Ronnie,’ I said. ‘You had her and you lost her a few years ago. It was me.’

  He paused, took a drag on his cigarette. ‘You live and learn,’ he said, eventually.

  I stood on the street looking up at the elegant Georgian house–my house, I thought with a smile. It was set back from the street behind an overgrown front garden, and now I climbed the stone steps that wove among the creeper-covered trees to the front door. With a shiver of excitement, I put my key in the lock for the first time as the house’s new owner.

  It was July 2011 and after years of living in the suburbs, I had found the home of my dreams among the fab restaurants and boutiques of London’s leafy Primrose Hill. It had been love from the moment I’d first laid eyes on the place, although clearly it hadn’t been redecorated since the seventies and was in need of a makeover. It looked sad and unloved, and the rooms were crammed with furniture and old books; the current owner had four lodgers so there were three kitchens, one on each floor. But it was a beautiful building with so much potential – and I do love a project. I’d put in an offer after that first viewing.

  And now the house was mine and I was looking around it as its proud owner. I had builders starting work tomorrow – rewiring, replacing the roof, ripping out the kitchens – but I wanted to enjoy this moment, just me and my gorgeous new home. As I wandered from room to room, amazed at how much space there was now it was empty, I could see in my mind how I would transform the place: a big new kitchen in the basement, an organic vegetable patch in the back garden, vintage carpet on the stairs, antique lace at the front windows . . . It would be a huge amount of work, but I knew that I would have enormous fun doing it.

  Eventually I reached the top floor and looked out of the window at the back of the house. The view across the rooftops took my breath away. There was the BT Tower, a central London landmark, so close I could almost touch it. Gosh, I’m right back in the middle of London, I thought happily. Back where it all started for me.

  The sun was setting, spreading rosy-pink streaks across the sky, and as I gazed out, I thought back to the dreamy girl who had climbed up a conker tree one evening to stare at the sun setting over Canvey Island. And just as I had back then, I marvelled at the world spread out below me, in all its beauty and promise, and I thought, I wonder what extraordinary adventure life has in store for me?

  Photo Section

  Mummy and daddy cutting their wedding cake, November 1954. They look so adorable.

  The whole family outside the Old Vicarage when I was 16. This was taken by a photographer from the Sun newspaper when I was their ‘Face of 72’. From left to right: Paul, dad (in his Beatnik era), Lize, mum, me, Vinnie.

  Me aged five with dad on one of his beloved Lambrettas. He gave me my own red Lambretta for my 21st birthday – and I still have it to this day.

  This was taken in our garden in Basildon. I’m wearing a dress made for me by mum and a shower cap – I have no idea why!

  Here I am as the Christmas Tree Fairy in my school play wearing my perfect tinsel-trimmed fairy dress and a pair of dirty plimsolls.

  Me and my siblings: Vinnie, Lize and Paul. I was 14 and at the height of my Twiggy obsession.

  So excited to be taking my first steps on the catwalk! This was during my graduation show at the London Academy of Modelling, wearing mum’s African straw hat and a red towelling bikini she’d made for me.

  My very first modelling shot, aged 15, taken by a friend of my dad who lived near us at the Old Vicarage. I love this picture as it reminds me of the excitement of growing up.

  Hello Sailor. . . I was asked to be the mascot of HMS Caledonian after appearing in the Daily Mirror. You can just about see the hole in the top of my tights that I felt so conscious about!

  My big break as the Sun’s ‘Face of 72’. You can tell just by looking at me that I was in absolute heaven!

  One of the many modelling cards from my career.

  This is one of the photos taken by Eric Swayne around the time we started seeing each other, shortly before I left my first husband, Peter.

  Mr and Mrs Green! The one and only photo from my first wedding in Las Vegas. Peter and I had just left County Hall where we tied the knot. God only knows why I’m holding a cuddly toy. . .

  My gorgeous little fella, Jamie, at six months. Peter took this photo when we were living in Shouldham Street, Marylebone.

  Striking my best rock god pose with Ronnie’s guitar on one of the early tours.

  Peeping out at Ronnie from between the flight cases backstage. I always loved being on the road – we were like one big family.

  Under the stage during a show in the early eighties. Keith’s standing above me and Mick is walking away.

  On the road – and in the air. On a private jet with Keith and Ronnie during one of the Stones’ tours. Keith has always been able to sleep in the weirdest positions. . .

  Leah’s first birthday party in Paris.

  Alien invasion with Jamie and Keith’s son, Marlon. Nassau, 1979.

  Me and my litt
le girl sunbathing in Mexico, where we had fled from our home in New York to escape the debt collectors.

  Keith serenading Princess Leah!

  From a very young age I have always loved to cook. Even when we were living in the States – this was in New York – I liked to cook a proper Sunday roast with all the trimmings.

  I love this picture of Ronnie with Jamie and Leah. It was taken while we were on holiday in Barbados – we had so many happy family holidays in the Caribbean.

  Barbecuing in our backyard in New York in the mid eighties. When it came to cooking, I was always in charge! My brother Vinnie was living with us at the time.

  The Blessed Sister Josephine on tour.

  At the end of every tour the band threw a party for the crew and spent the night waiting on them – which is why I’m dressed up like a waitress.

  Ronnie serenading me in the early eighties. I’m wearing a chamois leather dress that I designed myself.

  On holiday in St Maarten, shortly before our arrest, wearing the skirt in which I had hidden Franco and Mustafa’s rock.