Clips From A Life. Denis Norden

       FOREWORD

      In a long-ago New Yorker cartoon, a publisher is seen advising the anxious author whose slim volume of memoirs he has just tossed aside, ‘Cut out all the insights and beef up the anecdotes.’

      And insofar as I have followed any guiding principle for the ensuing ruminative rummage, that injunction would more or less cover it.

      No other discipline was observed. For some eighteen months or so, I simply set down each recollection as it arrived, making no attempt to impose any order, merely letting them pile up without regard for chronology or variousness. The process was so similar to the way we used to gather in clips for the TV shows from which I had been earning my bread and non-fat butter-substitute over the past forty-some years, it seemed appropriate to acknowledge the resemblance in the book’s title. At the very least, that gave me an excuse to abandon This is On Me, The Story Thus Far, Innocent Bystanding and Some of the Bits Frank’s Book Left Out.

      As might have been expected, the project ended up as a higgledy-piggledy mishmash of moments that had amused or impressed me over the course of my working life, each complete in itself but in aggregate an undisciplined jumble of 250-plus jottings as disconnected and random as the wisps and scraps of memory that delivered them.

      ‘Do you want me to rearrange them so that they make more of a straight line across the decades?’ I asked Louise Haines, my infinitely patient editor.

      ‘I’m not averse to a bit of backwards and forwards zig-zagging,’ she replied. ‘We might even make some kind of virtue of it.’

      Thankful for this – you only have to Google my screenplay credits to see how small a gift I have for sustained narrative – I was even more grateful when she added, ‘If you could just work out a separate timeline for me, I’ll try to put the bits and pieces into some kind of minimally coherent order, then chop it into chapters.’

      This she proceeded to do, with considerable diligence and ingenuity, in the process achieving an agreeable (to me, anyway) reversal of Life’s customary running order by positioning my chronicles of childhood up towards the book’s rear end. Incidentally, that timeline, for those who feel the need of it, can be found on page xvii.

      But in addition to Louise, there are several others to whom I owe a debt of gratitude for helping me get the thing finished. Foremost among them is Avril, my wife, who not only painstakingly scrutinised and proofed each paragraph as it was hewn from the living rock, she managed the some would say impossible task of keeping my spirits up throughout.

      I’m also indebted to Maggie, my daughter, Nick, my son, and his wife Elspeth, whose unfaltering encouragement, reinforced by offerings from all manner of recherché delis, acted as a constant spur. Nor could I have done without the clear-eyed interventions of Zoe and Katy, my grand-daughters, and the long-distance support of Jamie, the grandson.

      My warmest thanks also go to Brenda Talbot, my secretary from way back, who, with her husband, John, performed miracles of delving and digging; to Norma Farnes, my literary agent, and April Young, my everything-else agent, for taking care of the hard-headed stuff; to Doctor Paul Blom, for keeping me near enough seventy per cent road-worthy and Kieran Pascal for performing roughly the same function with my IT equipment.

      I would add a further thank-you note to Jamie Muir, for giving me permission to quote one of Frank’s My Word! stories and to Messrs Eyre Methuen for allowing me to reprint bits from Coming To You Live! and the My Word! books.

      But enough now of the Opening Titles. Cue Clips.