The only engagement I had with Miriam Francome was an odd thirty years ago in the paddock at Brighton raceycourse.
It was a very pleasant sunny afternoon and I had travelled down from the Citi smoke to clear my lungs and hopefully fill up my boots.
She likewise, but my Arthur Daley little earner was slightly less certain than hers, as the Racing Channel guaranteed a certain cheque at the end of the day – while I was relying on midnight oil and outcomes.
We were about five feet away post race and I knew immediately who she was, and back then and freer of worry lines and having a younger possibly more impressive frame than I possess now in my senior adulthood I may have cut a figure, but then again as far as she was concerned, I could easily have been John Garfield’s protege in the Postman always rings twice – actually the postmen back then might often give a little Stan Laurel whistle.
Despite my Royal Mail acting uniform I received a long engaging smile – or was it a flash ? Whatever it was it was electric and it got me whimsically thinking I had got one over the world’s greatest jockey !
She rolled a tantalizing microphone switching its position constantly in her fingers and I had a mind filled with a tantalizingly rolling picture of Brighton Rock and the odd thought came to mind – that Pinkie Brown might have had a far less turbulent end if only he had had the pleasure to fast forward and set eyes on the one and only wow figure that was Miriam.
R.I.P.