As the group congregated joyously in the function room, drinks in hand, who should waft in but the wonderful Omar? I had told him about the event and how unwell my old friend was, so very sweetly he had decided to spring a surprise. There were shrieks of delight and excitement as Omar allowed himself to be kissed, feted and photographed, and then he politely withdrew to let the family dine in peace.
As we wandered down to the lobby, I thanked him profusely for such a kindness. Nonchalantly he waved his largesse away, pressing me yet again to join him and his old thespian pal for supper for he knew I was an O’Toole fan. Demurely I turned him down, not because I was a married woman with a young son, but because instinct told me that dinner with these two delightful elderly hellraisers would end at some ungodly hour. Running a busy business I needed an early night.