‘IN THE 1960s, the last thing I wanted to do was holiday in Sweden, but now I
go every summer to the archipelago near Stockholm. It’s a beautiful and
still largely undiscovered part of the world. I stay in a house on Dalaro,
which is a bit like the Hamptons, and where a lot of people from the city
escape for summer. I live a very Swedish life there, running, boating and
spending time with my family and girlfriends. That is probably as close as
it gets to my ideal holiday.
I also spend one week every year in the south of France with my great friend
Billy Gaff, who used to be Rod Stewart’s manager. He has a house near
Cannes, and the holiday revolves entirely around walking, eating and
arguing. We take long walks into Cannes and visit the food markets before
long lunches on his balcony overlooking the sea, followed by lengthy dinners
in restaurants, where we argue, because Billy loves it.
We argue about anything and everything, including ridiculous things such as
blood groups. I once mentioned in a restaurant that I was group O and could
donate blood to anyone, but only receive it from other O donors. He said
that was not the case and ended up leaving our table to make calls around
the world, hoping that someone would say I was wrong. Even when everyone he
spoke to said I was right, he remained unconvinced.
My time there is always stimulating and nostalgic, as there is still the same
feeling and atmosphere in the south of France as there was in the 1960s,
although much of the area is completely changed. I first went with Peter
Sellers, not long after we married.
We stayed at La Colombe d’Or, in St-Paul-de-Vence, which is one of the few
places that is still as it was. The cobbled streets and the square are now
packed with tourists, and the hotel’s restaurant is now world-renowned, but
it still looks the same, with its lovely terrace and the dining room stuffed
full of paintings by Picasso and other artists. They used to pay for their
meals with their work.
Peter was enthusiastic about wherever we went. If we’d been to Mexico, he’d
have wanted to buy a hacienda; in the south of France, he got a bee in his
bonnet about buying a yacht. So he did, and we spent days sailing down the
coast, swimming and being fed oysters by the on-board chef. That sort of
excess has now burgeoned beyond belief, and the whole coast is swarming with
people on boats, indulging themselves relentlessly.
We also sailed to Sardinia just as the Aga Khan was starting to develop his
resort. We would party with Princess Margaret and Tony Snowdon, so it was
very social: lots of exceedingly long lunches, lots of fruits de mer, lots
of lying on yachts and burning yourself to a crisp. It was not really a
holiday, just a big social whirl, but that was what you did for a holiday
then.
Peter and I spent our honeymoon in Jamaica, but not until a year after we got
married, as we were both working too much at the time. My memories are of
having the worst sunburn ever, and meeting Noël Coward.
Some of my best holidays have been in the mountains. Lou Adler, the father of
my eldest son, has a house in Aspen, and I’ve been going there for years. It
is the most wonderful place to ski, with soft, deep powder snow, spectacular
mountains and wonderful nightlife.
I first skied in Sweden, when I was 10 years old. My father decided I should
learn, so he took me to the top of hill, strapped on some skis and told me
to find a way to get down. I had no idea how to do it, but I had no choice.
After a bit of trial and error, I discovered that if I went sideways and
bent my knees, I could get down without slithering all the way on my bottom.
His rather unorthodox method worked – I slowly learnt to ski, and I’m
grateful, because, over the years, the sport has given me so much joy. I
love the sense of control and the freedom of just being you and your skis
making your way down a mountainside.’
