I think of myself as in the autumn of my life — it’s my favourite season. I like the idea of ripening, maturing into my prime. I hope I have learned on my journey, but I still want to keep improving. I have always resisted any kind of meditation, self-contemplation or spirituality as an indulgence. But now I’ve reached eighty, however, this might be an appropriate moment to look into my soul rather more critically — and learn. The goal of life is to end up wiser. But more importantly, I think it should be to end up kinder, both to yourself and everyone around you (unless, of course, their surname happens to be Johnson).
Dirty Talk
I hope this isn’t the first chapter you turn to, but I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I realised while writing this book that I haven’t directly tackled the thing that has brought me the most notoriety late in my career: dirty talk. I am now better known for my naughty stories than almost anything else.
It’s not out of character. As you may have picked up from this book, I’ve always enjoyed talking about sex. In Newnham Old Hall dining room at breakfast, I could be relied on to spill the beans on whomever I had sucked off the night before. While no penis has ever been inside me, I have always been amused by them. Even now, I find myself looking at where the penis bulges in men’s trousers. It’s such an odd dangler to have — something hanging outside yourself. Our naughty areas are contained, for the most part, within our bodies, but men have to deal with this extra stalk. It’s a fascinating subject that people simply don’t discuss enough.
When I had my first proper lesbian relationship with Marion, she was mortified to find out that I was discussing everything (all our ins and outs!) with the rest of the cast. She thought that a private life should remain just that. But it was such a gobsmacking revelation to me that I wanted to share everything I’d learned. Sex isn’t so much part of my life now, but I like remembering it and talking about the things I used to do when I had it.
From the very beginning, I always wanted to connect with people using language and humour and sometimes naughtiness. I hope people will like me, but if they don’t, I want them to notice me. I’ve always asked, ‘How old were you when you had your first fuck?’ It’s a good way of getting a reaction: because sometimes, if you prick people, they respond genuinely, and that’s what I seek: a genuine response.
I delight in the whole physical aspect of life, and find sex and penises, vaginas and knickers, and lavatories and farting, hugely funny. And breasts. I love talking about breasts. They make me laugh. In general, when I’m at a loss for conversational gambits, I fall back on a subject I know people enjoy hearing about, which is SEX, even when it is slightly dirty — which it almost always is with me. I know I’m capable of being outrageous, but I don’t do it all the time; at home I’m quiet and boring, preferring to subside into a book or into the computer. I do not have a public persona. I don’t assume sweetness for the camera; I’m the same person no matter where I go or what company I’m in. But, like everyone else, I judge which facet of my personality will suit a particular situation and present it. To that extent, I am calculating — but never to conceal, only to reveal.
My friends, of course, knew exactly what I was like, but it only dawned on the wider world when I started appearing regularly on chat shows. The first time I was invited on The Graham Norton Show was in 2012. Beside me on the sofa was a charming young man called will.i.am. I didn’t know who he was, but he was a lovely fellow and I was pleased to meet him. When will.i.am started using the word ‘like’ in the way that Americans do — unfortunately everybody’s doing it now — I gently pointed out that the continual repetition of the word was a waste of time and proceeded to give him a short grammar lesson on the subject. Thankfully, will.i.am took it well. I didn’t set out to be funny, though. I just wanted to explain why that word should not be used in that way. It still grates when I hear it misused so often. I’ve lost the battle to stop people saying it, but I won’t stop fighting. (I joined the Apostrophe Protection Society, as that little mark is also rapidly becoming another lost cause. It’s a war I’m still fighting but on my own now as, sadly, the society has closed down.)
will.i.am practically fell off the red sofa when, at Graham’s prompting, I told the story of an incident during my last show in Edinburgh. I was walking home late after work one night, through the Meadows — the large open field just behind the university area — when I heard a rustling above me (I’m so short, almost everything is above me, actually). I looked up and in the tree I saw a young man in military uniform, vigorously masturbating. I watched him for a moment, just to make sure I had fully grasped the situation, and then said, ‘What on earth are you doing?’ I felt concerned for him, so I asked, ‘What is your occupation?’ I thought a few questions might take his mind off it. He replied, ‘I’m a soldier.’ I asked, ‘In the military Tattoo?’ ‘Yes,’ came the reply. I said, ‘Come down at once.’ He clambered down. I said, ‘What’s the matter with you? You can’t do that. You know you can get into trouble doing what you’re doing? You could destroy your career. What rank are you?’ I think he was a corporal. I said, ‘Now look, I will help you out with this one, but you must go home after, and remember you are a soldier. You’ll get into a lot of trouble if anyone catches you up a tree doing that again. Or indeed anywhere.’ I then gave him a helping hand, so to speak, and off he went. He was charming and, I must also say, grateful.
I’m going to add to this story something I didn’t say on TV, because I thought it might brand me as a sex maniac, which I’m not. But after the soldier had said cheerio, I was cleaning my hand when I heard someone saying, ‘Miriam, do you remember me?’ I turned around and, sitting on the bench nearby was a sweet boy I’d known in Oxford, a Nigerian called Winston. He said a bit cheekily, ‘I saw how you helped that young man; what about me?’ Well, I didn’t want to be accused of discrimination, and I liked Winston, so it turned out that night I killed two birds for the price of one. I felt good, they felt good; truly, what’s the harm? No animals were hurt in the process.
Back to Graham Norton. When one of the other guests exclaimed, ‘Jesus, Miriam!’ I simply said, ‘He was a soldier, and you’ve got to support the troops.’ Their assumption that because I care about correct language that my days of thinking and talking dirty would be far behind me, was not only erroneous, but downright offensive.
It is the absolute truth that when I go on that show, I genuinely do not know what I’m going to say. We have a telephone chat with a researcher a few days before and they ask me what I want to talk about, but I’ve no idea then and I tell them so. I prefer things to be spontaneous; I like the freedom Graham gives his guests. He is the most charming host, genuine, quick-witted and generous. All his guests feel the same — he makes it into a party. Perhaps I do go a little far; I remember the lovely Stanley Tucci saying plaintively, after one story: ‘I just want to be on a programme that airs!’ As an American actor, he’s used to much more buttoned-up chat shows where people go on to plug something, but are determined not to give too much of themselves away. He couldn’t believe the BBC would actually broadcast the words I was speaking. My appearances on all the talk shows are fraught with danger because my language is often foul. I’ve been reported to Ofcom several times. I know I swear too much and I’m constantly being reminded to keep it clean. I regret I offend — it’s a bad habit I got into very early. But saying ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘cunt face’ isn’t as bad as racism or selling drugs. Get real!