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torch to find them,’ Pete suggested.

      ‘Can’t do that,’ said Eric, ‘it’ll spoil the effect.’

      So they crept round the garden, each with a box of matches, and because, being stars, each wanted to outdo the other, they set them off immediately. The thunder flashes were deafening, rockets whizzed dangerously close, jumping crackers pursued them. They nearly had an accident but it was a laugh and they went back to the house proudly to see how their audience had enjoyed it. As they trudged up the garden they were dismayed to see that the window had steamed up, which must have spoilt the view. When they got into the house they found the children, backs to the window, mesmerized by the magician.

      Fireworks? They had not noticed.

      Pete played the roles of all three of them, brilliantly, and the wine flowed with the anecdotes into the night. It was one of the happiest evenings I had spent with Spike.

      But trouble was on the horizon. Beryl Vertue is as ambitious as she is gifted and she had been in negotiation with the Robert Stigwood Organization, which was interested in acquiring ALS. At a meeting in early 1968 she announced that if they made the move there would be large cash payments for all members. David and everyone else seemed in favour of the move, but of course Spike could not see any advantage in joining a large organization. Stigwood, he said, wanted to buy the talent to gain respectability. Getting into his stride, Spike reminded everyone that ALS had been started to nurture all concerned. Now the rats were deserting a very happy and successful ship. Let them go; they could sell their souls for gold if they wanted, the traitors. He was staying put. ‘On my own, if need be.’

      Nobody took kindly to this outburst. When I heard what had happened I looked at Anthony. Would we be on the move again or should I stay with Spike, whose demands could alter not every day but every minute? Could I leave him alone in the building? For all his tantrums Spike was the most vulnerable person I knew, and he had been so kind to me. No, I decided to stay.

      The negotiations took quite some time, as they always do, but eventually the time came for them to move. Ray and Alan sold back their share of the building to Spike and Eric and, as Ray was packing up to leave, he decided his antique desk was too big and heavy for his new office and I bought it from him. When I handed over the cash he had a receipt ready.

      ‘Don’t be silly. I don’t need a receipt from you,’ I said.

      ‘You need it for Spike.’

      ‘What do you mean?’

      ‘If he fancies the desk he’ll convince himself, and try to convince you, that because it’s in the office it belongs to him. That’s the way it is with him. So keep the receipt,’ he said. His advice proved useful in the future.

      Eric was on tour with Jimmy Edwards in Big Bad Mouse, which they took all over the world, so come 30 April 1968 it was just me and Spike and Anthony alone in that big house. And so we remained for months on end. The others moved to grand offices in Brook Street and it was a while before we sublet the many spare rooms in Number Nine. It was nice to have my own office but when Spike was out, and then abroad in Australia, it was a strange experience to work in a building that had once rung with laughter and was now eerily quiet. I took on a receptionist, a lovely if slightly wacky Welsh girl, Tanis Davies. She was hopeless with money and always had at least two jobs. Over the years she left about five times because she was tempted by a bigger job elsewhere, only to telephone a few months later saying she missed us too much. She was incredibly loyal and, if anything, she became more protective of Spike than I was.

      It was around this time that Spike Milligan Productions was set up, at the suggestion of Spike’s accountant. Spike was not a director of the company, rather the company had exclusive rights to his services, and I became a director along with his accountant and his solicitor.

      Beryl Vertue had asked me to join ALS when they first left Orme Court and about two months after they decamped she invited me out to lunch. We talked about the future and she told me I would waste my career if I stayed with Spike; she had been there before me and knew that he was very difficult and needed a lot of looking after. I knew she was right in everything she said, but I could not leave Spike on his own. I realized I would have to stay put, for the time being.

      My flat mates thought I was mad to stick it out. But because I did an agent was born.

      It happened as a result of a telephone call I took from an advertising agency. They were interested in Spike heading a big television campaign for BP. When I passed on the message Spike was blasé.

      ‘You’d better go along and talk to them.’

      ‘I don’t know anything about negotiating a fee,’ I said.

      He shrugged. ‘You’ll have to, Norm. There’s nobody else.’

      I shook my head.

      ‘If you don’t go it will be your fault if I lose out on making a lot of money.’

      Blackmail as well. He won, as usual.

      Off I went to Service Advertising in Knightsbridge. They wanted Spike to dress as Batman for the commercial and needed a year’s exclusivity.

      ‘How much?’ I asked.

      ‘£10,000.’

      If they had said £500 I would have been impressed. £10,000. I was shattered but determined not to show it.

      ‘Oh dear,’ I managed. ‘I was expecting much more than that.’

      ‘How much did you have in mind?’

      That was the trouble. I did not have anything in mind. So I doubled their number.

      ‘£20,000.’

      They looked aghast, but there was no going back. I could not lower the figure.

      ‘That’s out of the question.’

      I remained as composed as I could, wished them good day and went back to the office to tell Spike. He went into orbit and I was at the receiving end of another tirade.

      ‘What do you mean? You’ve lost me £10,000. Have you any idea how much £10,000 is?’

      ‘Don’t take it out on me. I didn’t want to go in the first place. I told you I didn’t have any experience of that sort of thing.’

      He glared and paced up and down, then cocked his head.

      ‘Wait a minute. What did they say? How did they look? Did they drop down dead –’

      ‘Let’s wait and see. If we’ve lost it, we’ve lost it.’

      He was furious. ‘What kind of a fucking attitude is that? It’s a lot of money,’ he said and slammed out.

      I did not see him for the rest of the day. Mentally he had consigned me to a hellish Siberia populated by failed agents.

      Two days later the agency rang to see if I was prepared to have another meeting. I would have dropped anything to go, except perhaps a date with Anthony.

      ‘Just let me look at my diary.’ It was blank but they could not see it. ‘I can’t make it tomorrow but I’ve got a slot at eleven the next morning.’

      That would be fine, they said, and I went back and settled for £18,000 with perks.

      Back to Spike. I had kept him in ignorance about the second meeting. The expression on his face made the trauma of the last few days worthwhile.

      ‘£18,000. Are you sure?’

      I nodded and told him I did not want to be put through that sort of experience again.

      ‘What do you mean? I reckon you’re a born agent. The bloody nerve of it!’

      He smiled. Suddenly I was his wonder girl.

      ‘Do you want to be my agent as well as manager?’

      For some reason I said ‘Yes’.

      Spike donned

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