Phillip Adams: How my friend lost an original Picasso

My friend, a highly-regarded flamenco dancer, told me of having his portrait taken after strolling along a lonely beach and striking up conversation with a small, nut-brown Spaniard.

Pablo Picasso pictured in his Paris studio circa 1930s.

This week, I want to share four true and funny stories with you. The first stars the late Sir Thomas Beecham, one of Britain’s most famous orchestral conductors. With his larger-than-life personality, Tommy was the source of many an anecdote. My favourite? While rehearsing the opera Aida with a large soprano and two real elephants, his prima donna threw a tantrum – and at that exact moment, one of the elephants turned around, pointed its huge bum at the orchestra pit and massively defecated. Sir Thomas laid down his baton and uttered the immortal words, “Dreadful stage manners but what a critic!”

Here’s the second one. In his later years the English actor Robert Morley, conscious of increasing befuddlement, told the following story at his own expense. Introduced to one of the royals after a performance, he couldn’t quite place her – but he had a vague feeling that prompted him to begin what became a terse conversation with the simple question, “How’s your sister?” To which Princess Margaret replied archly, “Still Queen.”

Enter, stage left, Senator McClelland for the next story. I don’t mean Douglas McClelland, who partly inspired Sir Les Patterson; I mean the urbane James McClelland, aka Diamond Jim. No one bettered Jim as a raconteur. My favourite yarn? Not long before the Dismissal, Jim hosted a Labor Party party in his Canberra digs – and John Kerr motored over from Yarralumla in his Mini to mingle with the comrades. But let Jim tell the story. “We’d been drinking pretty heavily and even Kerr knew he’d had enough, saying, ‘I’d better get back to Government House in case Her Majesty phones’. He headed for the door. I stopped him and said, ‘You’re too drunk to drive – imagine the scandal if you’re picked up by the cops.’ So we called for the GG’s RR. Kerr asked me to walk him to the front gate. I’ll never forget the night. The moon was shining through the leaves, casting a delicate tracery of shadows on the grass as I guided John’s footsteps. He suddenly stopped, turned to me and said, ‘Do you like me, Jim?’ ‘Of course I like you, John, we’ve been friends for decades.’ ‘But do you really like me?’ ‘Yes, John, I really like you.’ ‘Then give me a kiss.’ After a momentary hesitation I could see no harm in it and gave Kerr a peck on the cheek. At which point the Governor-General turned to me, puckered up and said, ‘No, I want a proper one!’”

To his dying day Diamond Jim insisted that this moment sheds significant light on subsequent political events – that in effect Kerr had fallen out of love with Gough and formed a homoerotic attachment to Malcolm. It’s a fascinating theory which, to my knowledge, has not appeared in any official history.

The fourth and final story. Another lifelong friend of mine was the eccentric actor Trader Faulkner, an Australian who moved to London to act with Olivier, Leigh and other godly thespians. Also a highly regarded flamenco dancer, Trader told me of once strolling along a lonely Spanish beach and coming upon a small, nut-brown Spaniard. The two fell into conversation. As they talked, the Spaniard drew Trader’s portrait in the wet sand with his big toe. Whereupon a wave came and washed away... an original Picasso.