by Roger Moore
With Flossie and Kristina in Vienna.
No parent should have to bury a child. It’s the cruellest, most awful thing you can ever imagine. Kristina was unable to speak at the funeral – it was all she could do to be there in the face of horrific grief – but she asked that I share some personal memories of Flossie and I think these two, which I read at her funeral, sum her up:
When Flossie was about sixteen she was travelling to Berlin with her school when they were stopped at the border crossing by the East German police. There was a bit of a kerfuffle. Flossie’s passport photo had been tampered with and changed, and not very professionally either. The train was held up for seven or eight hours waiting for the Stasi to arrive and investigate. Flossie freely admitted she’d changed the photograph, which obviously set alarm bells ringing. On being asked why, she replied matter-of-factly, ‘Because I didn’t like the old photo!’
The second incident occurred in the hospital, during her final week. A group of doctors came into her room to talk things through and update us, and as they started to shuffle out, Flossie asked one of them to stay behind. She beckoned him closer, and whispered quietly, ‘Your breath smells.’ The next day, he arrived sucking on a mint.
That was Flossie. She was truly unique.
I loved gadgets from an early age – but look at the size of that camera.
THE OLD GREY MATTER AND TECHNOLOGY
I can quote Shakespearean sonnets that I learned at RADA in 1940-something. I can remember lines from plays I performed in repertory theatre, and whole chunks of dialogue from films I haven’t seen since their premiere. I can tell you the best route from London’s Wardour Street to Battersea, road name by road name ... So why is it I sometimes stand in the kitchen wondering what I went in there for?
I liken the brain to a Rolodex filing system. The older you get, the more information the Rolodex has to store and therefore the laws of physics state it takes a little longer to find exactly what you’re looking for when you go rummaging. Sounds convincing, to me at least.
As you get older three things happen. The first is your memory goes, and I can’t remember the other two.
SIR NORMAN WISDOM
I’ve always loved gadgets. I was in seventh heaven trying out all the various watches, cameras, cars and gizmos as Jimmy Bond. Consequently, I’m quite savvy when it comes to the internet and my Mac, iPhone and iPad. Google is a doddle, email is time-saving, Facetime and Skype are wonderful for saving on the phone bill, but for some unknown reason my various machines and tablets occasionally seem to forget the all-important login password, so I dutifully tap it in again only for an ‘error’ message to appear. There are only so many ‘errors’ you’re allowed before the whole thing goes slightly apocalyptic and threatens you with a fate worse than death – that of not being able to use your phone.
I usually end up resetting the password and, because I like to have the same password for each online account and service (yes, I know I shouldn’t but …), I go through the tiresome process of updating my Skype, my email, my Amazon, my iTunes, my British Airways ... and all my other passwords to the new one. Later in the week I can guarantee one of the devices will ask me to enter the new password again, before saying it’s not recognized – and so the whole routine starts all over. I don’t know if I’m unique in managing to upset my devices and make them react in such a manner?
In Switzerland I have a very helpful ‘techie’ guy who will pop round if I call him, though he only speaks French and my grasp of the language isn’t too bad until you get down to technicalities. God knows, it’s hard enough in English. So, although he usually resolves the problem, I can’t always remember how he did it or what caused it in the first place.
Occasionally, I decide to call one of the so-called technology ‘helplines’. Living between Switzerland and Monaco has its advantages, but one of the downsides – as hinted above – is that the people on the other end of the line usually speak German, Italian or French. I pick my way through the issue in my very best pidgin, only for them to answer at a hundred miles an hour and totally flummox me.
WHAT IF …?
Camelot
In early 1965 I was offered the lead in the West End production of Camelot at Drury Lane. It had opened in the August of the previous year, with Laurence Harvey playing Arthur; he was leaving to move on to other projects.
Unfortunately it was mid-production in the latest series of The Saint and the dates just didn’t work for my schedule, so I had to turn it down. Paul Daneman, who had toured in the part in Australia, replaced Laurence Harvey and, of course, Richard Harris later assumed the lead and went on to star in the film version. Richard toured for six years with the show, reportedly giving him great wealth. In fact, in 1990 he said: ‘I couldn’t spend my money in five lifetimes.’
That’ll upset my bank manager. And to think, I might have gone on to become Dumbledore in the Harry Potter films!
So I usually give up and start the password reset process all over again. Then it all works fine … until a message appears that tells me I’ve been disconnected from the wi-fi network.
‘What’s the wi-fi password?’ I’m asked.
How the hell do I know? Some idiot keeps changing it!
Thinking I’ll be clever, once I’m back in, I email myself all the new passwords. There they are, in black and white for future reference, though then there is the issue of not being able to get into my email to check on the password when I’m locked out again.
I have a little carry-on suitcase that I always take with me on my travels, and it contains a range of chargers, adaptors, batteries, leads and SIM cards. I have my French iPhone, my Swiss iPhone and a couple of old spare phones for use in other countries – but which SIM card goes in which? I seem to have about four UK pay-as-you-go SIM cards and it’s potluck as to which one works once I arrive in London. I’ve been known to tell everyone I’ll be on my Giffgaff number only to discover I’m on my Three number – no wonder my agent never calls me.
Have you tried topping up a pay-as-you-go SIM card? In truth, having endured a flight, a strip-search at the airport and then a drive into London, where all I want to do is unpack and put my feet up for half an hour, I don’t relish the idea of trekking out to find a newsagent to buy a voucher, nor similarly to find an ATM, so I usually try to top up online, from the comfort of my armchair. Hah! Questions come up, such as ‘What is your login password?’
‘Take your pick, mate!’
I become so frustrated that I end up calling them. Even over the phone they ask me questions, such as ‘What is your security password?’ Look, I can’t even get the right SIM card, let alone remember what word I used in 2008 to set up the damn thing. All I want to do is spend some money to top up the wretched card, but they won’t let me. I can only imagine how my attempting to load £25 without full security clearance could be misconstrued as money laundering to these companies, but I assure them that I really do have better things to do.
Oh, and have you tried getting a SIM card out of an iPhone? You need a little needle-like probe that slips into a hole, which in turn releases the little tray in which the card sits – but who carries that around with them? So many times have I asked waiters, bar staff, hotel front desks and even taxi drivers if they have a paperclip I can use, only to be a little over-enthusiastic and press it in so hard that the ruddy card tray flies off into a far corner somewhere.
I must try to remain calm.
My first mobile phone was the size of a large house brick – not particularly mobile, I know – and you’d often see people walking down the road like the Hunchback of Notre Dame holding onto these huge weights that were pulling them down. I’ve probably still got mine upstairs in the house, as I rarely throw anything away. It took hours to charge and the battery didn’t last very long and quite honestly the signal would often cut out too, not to mention how horrendously expensive it was to make a call. Though for someone like me who thought direct dial telephone numbers w
ere state of the art, it was a huge novelty and something to show off to friends.
I don’t believe one grows older. I think that what happens early on in life is that at a certain age one stands still and stagnates.
T. S. ELIOT
In the pre-mobile phone days, it was fairly difficult to get quick messages to far-flung places of the world, and we relied on telegrams and telex. I remember Billy Wilder saying he was in Paris filming One, Two, Three (1961) and Audrey Hepburn sent him a telex asking him to bring back a bidet. His reply: ‘CAN’T FIND BIDET. STOP. SUGGEST YOU STAND ON HEAD IN SHOWER.’
But then in the late 1960s came the fax machine. It was probably the 1980s before they became more affordable, and I remember buying one for communications with my agent, lawyer, producers. Film contracts would come whirring through for review, pages of scripts could be changed and transmitted in seconds, and office life suddenly became a lot easier, though we didn’t quite realize that the thermal paper on which faxes were printed would fade over the course of a few months – I have a folder full of blank paper contracts! As they say, ‘not worth the paper they’re written on’.
I had a bit of fun communicating with my son Christian when he was based in LA. With the time difference it wasn’t always easy to talk on the phone, so I’d send him notes and updates on family life – though I’d often Tipp-Ex out every few words, so all he received were four words and five blanks per line. Oh, what fun!
I bought a home movie camera and VCR when they first came onto the market. To have a video camera you could hold in your hand was revolutionary and being a would-be director, I filmed hours of footage with the family, on trips, at home – hundreds of tapes. In fact I had it with me in Acapulco when I was filming on location. One morning I had the day off and was playing paddle tennis with Placido Domingo at his house when news reached me that my son Geoffrey had been born. There was much celebrating and Placido said, ‘Let me film a personal message for the boy’. Of course, I never bothered trying to assemble the tapes or have them transferred to DVD, and now they just sit there gathering dust.
I’d have loved to have my own Q Branch at home to develop gadgets.
(© 1962-2017 Danjaq LLC and United Artists Corp.)
In the Bond films we had Q to supply the latest gadgets and gizmos, many of which were actually prototypes of real designs and are now in everyday use. But, I ask myself, would Q have come up with something as deeply frustrating as the self-service till?
My mother always used to say, ‘The older you get, the better you get, unless you’re a banana’.
BETTY WHITE
Shops used to have a row of smiling cashiers waiting and willing to help you make a purchase. Now there are banks of soulless machines that scan your items and supposedly make the whole shopping experience easier and quicker. Oh yes?
Have you ever placed your basket of groceries down and started scanning them only for the thing to start getting agitated and flashing up hieroglyphics with accompanying messages such as my personal favourite, ‘unexpected item in bagging area’? Tell me about it!
At first you can’t help but look around, sheepishly and feeling quite guilty, until one of the former cashiers – now relegated to a back room somewhere – sees the situation and comes to your aid. They explain it was because you eagerly scanned two items in succession and didn’t allow the necessary ‘bit of time’ in between. So you get free lessons in check-out skills before being left to continue. But wait! The lights start up again! You have picked an age-restricted item, anything from a bottle of wine to a box of matches. Thankfully the former cashier appears again to vouch that you are indeed over twenty-one.
‘Have you used any of our bags?’ it asks. Obviously not, as I selected ‘I have my own bag with me’ when I first approached the machine.
‘Please swipe your loyalty card.’
‘I don’t have one,’ I press.
‘Would you like a loyalty card?’
‘No, I wouldn’t.’
‘Are you sure you wouldn’t like a loyalty card?’
‘No!’ I confirm.
‘If you take out a loyalty card today we’ll give you 0.00000001 per cent off your next purchase!’
‘I still don’t want one.’
‘Are you collecting vouchers for schools?’ it asks.
‘No,’ I choose.
‘Would you like to start collecting vouchers for schools?’
‘No,’ I confirm again.
‘Insert your payment.’
I stick in my credit card only to be told there’s a problem and this till has now reverted to ‘cash only’ and I should go to another till.
Better still, have you tried buying a newspaper at the airport? Not only do you have to go through all of the above but you have to scan your boarding card too. When I say, ‘It’s with my wife, and she has gone ahead to the bookshop,’ they just look at me, smiling in their own helpful way.
Just who do these tills make the shopping experience easier for?
If you go into a large bank, you’ll likely find – again – that most of the serving positions have now been replaced by machines.
‘The machines can do anything a cashier can,’ you’re proudly told by a young person hopping around with an iPad clutched in hand.
‘I have an old £50 note I found in a jacket and would like to exchange it for a new one,’ I said during such an encounter a little while back.
‘Ah,’ replied the hopping person, ‘if you log into your account and pay it through the machine, you can then withdraw fifty pounds in new notes.’
Twenty minutes later, old £50 still clamped in palm, I’m wondering what happened to cashiers who could just serve you?
Kristina recently ventured into a bank in Switzerland to draw some cash from the ATM. It was one of those all-singing all-dancing models that had so many options, buttons, slots and lights that Kristina didn’t quite know how to get started.
‘Could you help me?’ she asked a staff member, whose job, it appeared, was to try and avoid all customers at all costs.
‘I need to draw some cash,’ Kristina continued, proffering her bank card, ‘but I’m not quite sure ...’
‘Do you bank with us Madame?’ he asked, helpfully.
‘No, I just want to use the ATM.’
‘If you don’t bank with us, I am not at liberty to help you use the ATM,’ he concluded, before walking off.
I know what you’re thinking – Swiss bankers!
Have you bought something – anything – electrical recently? Once upon a time there used to be an instruction booklet that came with the item. Admittedly it was written in fifteen different languages and typeset in the tiniest of print, but at least you had something to refer to. Nowadays there’s nothing other than a flyer with a website address to download instructions and register for a warranty. So, when I bought a new toaster recently, I was given a web address. That’s fine, only the address doesn’t seem to work, or at least the page I need won’t load up.
How difficult can it be, you ask, to use a toaster? Back in the days when there was one knob and one slide-down button, it was a piece of cake (or toast), but this one requires you to set temperatures, timings, desired colourings and all that jazz.
When I do manage to log into an online instruction manual, I’ve found – and this is a prime example of Sod’s Law – I either end up with 130 pages in multiple languages, which start auto-printing, or a single page appertaining to the next model up to the one I bought, so it makes little or no sense at all.
It may sound alien to younger readers, but when one used to check into hotels the receptionist would give you a key. Yes, a metal key on a keyring, which unlocked and locked the room door and which you left with reception when you went out, enabling them, in the case of an emergency, to quickly check who was in and who was out.
WHAT IF …?
My Own Chat Show
I made a couple of appearances – on 25 October and 19 December 1969 – o
n Dee Time, a chat show hosted by Simon Dee on the BBC, to talk about my life and career. I must have made quite an impression with Tom Sloan (the then head of BBC light entertainment) as when, a few weeks later, Dee moved across to ITV, I was offered my own chat show. It was to have run for thirteen weeks and I made a comment to the press: ‘The BBC bent over backwards to get me and offered a great deal of money.’
Having thought about it though, I turned it down, explaining: ‘The series would not have interfered with my other work. I turned it down because I am essentially an actor and when I act I use only a tiny part of my own personality. A TV show is much more demanding, particularly if you are to appear as only yourself throughout.’
Then some bright spark came up with the idea of doing away with keys in favour of swipe cards – magnetic swipe cards that could be re-used (as could keys, I hasten to add, but no one was listening to me).
So, I ask you, how many times have you stayed in a top floor room, at the furthest end of the corridor from the lift, only to discover your swipe card has been ‘demagnetized’ and you need to trek back down to reception?
‘Don’t put it near your mobile phone,’ they helpfully suggest. I didn’t.
It seems that some of those security sensors you find at the entrance to shops have a habit of affecting the magnetization, so pass through a few shop doors and you’ve had it!
