saying, âMeter on, meter onâ. Itâs only a joke. For younger readers, Francois Mitterrand was once the French president, itâs actually pronounced âMeter onâ.
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As a television technician, I was a private engineer to the fabulous Hattie Jacques (1922â1980), who lived in a first floor flat in Eardley Crescent, just a few yards away from the Earls Court exhibition halls. She was a giant lady but with a voice as gentle as an angel and was best known for her matron scenes in the Carry On movies. Once she rang me at home and asked if I could pick her up and take her to her ex-husbandâs house. He was John Le Mesurier, and his girlfriendâs television had gone wrong. Well, when she sat in my car the vehicle leaned away to the left. Her chest actually touched the dashboard.
I have never met anybody with such a radiant personality. She told me that she had had a major tragedy in her immediate family but I do not want to write about that particular event as it might be hurtful to somebody. They placed a plaque outside her house next to one of the windows. Whenever I drive past Eardley Crescent, I look up and give a sad little sigh to the memory of one of my better customers. John Le Mesurier got me all the signatures of the Dadâs Army cast but unfortunately I lost the lot. I think my kids may have swapped them for comic books. What a great loss.
Carrying on with my tour, I now leave Eardley Crescent and turn left into Warwick Road, then right into Cromwell Road. On the left is Logan Place where the star of one of the most famous of all pop groups lived: Queen. The star was Freddie Mercury and even today there are lots of flowers left outside his door by adoring fans. It seems he will never be forgotten.
I continue my imaginary journey along Cromwell Road to another blue plaque commemorating a very famous English man, Alfred Hitchcock. He went to America and made such Hollywood greats as The Birds , Rear Window and Psycho . A master of suspense, he always appeared in a cameo roll in every one of his films, lurking in the background.
Chapter 23
I have now moved up to Kensington High Street and Iâm passing Kensington Palace, where Princess Diana lived. I will never forget the day she died, the whole area was covered in flowers, soft toys, framed photos and a multitude of affectionate memorabilia. It was a sea of tributes spread over so much ground.
A few years previously I remember driving my cab down Sloane Street when Diana tried to cross the road to reach her car, which was driven by her bodyguard. I did not brake in time and she smiled at me and walked behind my cab to cross the road. I guess that was the day that I blew my chances of a knighthood. I was surprised at the negligence of her bodyguard. He had left her alone in a street in London on the other side of that road. How bad is that?
I remember the Princess was a regular user of a gym in Townmead Road, SW6, called The Harbour Club. I took many a posh customer there. The paparazzi drove poor old Diana mad by standing on tall stepladders and peering over the ten-foot wall of the gym. They would wait for hours to get a valuable photograph and were there most mornings as I passed by in my cab.
When Prince Charles was courting the young Diana, she lived in a large block of upmarket flats in Old Brompton Road, near Earls Court. If they ever erect a blue plaque to the Princess outside her old apartment that flat will fetch a fortune.
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I now turn right into Queensgate and on the right hand side is a house with the number two on the door. There is a large blueplaque here to the famous comedian Benny Hill. This was his town house. Every time I had a few Americans in the cab, and pointed out this house, they always shouted, âStop the cabâ. My passengers would all pile out and take photos. The same applied to most tourists, particularly the Japanese. Everybody loved Benny Hill, and