I have managed in a long life to avoid speaking in public - except twice.
The first time was for the editor of a newspaper where I had a weekly column. He asked me to give a talk to his club. I think it was called The Lions. I did my best to decline, but we were friends and the continuation of my column was important to me. So I agreed.
For my talk I wore a country-designed jacket that incorporated several ordinary pockets and two large poacher's pockets.
I was expected to talk about wine, which was the subject of my column. So I started off with a bit about the nonsense of wine language by critics and the blurb on bottles, and that wine you like will almost certainly go with the food you like. This debunking approach to the subject was expected of me.
Then I manoeuvred my talk around to food, singing the praises of a classic tomato salad, an ideal dish with which to start almost any meal. "You may," I continued, "like to know how to make it the way they do in France."
From one of my poacher's pockets I produced a large plate. Then from another pocket a thin bladed and very sharp knife, and from the third, a large tomato. These I placed on a tall stool that I had arranged to stand next to me.
I halved, cut away the firm centre, and then thinly sliced the tomato. There was a slightly astonished look on the faces of my audience.
Next from the pockets came two small pots of pepper and salt, then a bottle of home-produced vinegar, and one of olive oil. With these I dressed the tomato slices (being generous with the oil and frugal with the vinegar).
From yet another hiding place I produced a small onion and chopped some of it finely before scattering some of the small pieces over the tomato slices.
Lastly out came a bunch of parsley and scissors with which to cut a sprinkling of the herb over the lot.
That was the end of my "speech". There was laughter and much applause.
Then I produced every fork that I owned so that my audience could sample the result of my talk.
The second speech was in quite a different setting, and very much grander.
There were so many of my paintings in an exhibition at Guildhall Art Gallery, where other contributors were given single offerings, that I was asked to give a speech and formally open the exhibition in front of friends, critics and the public.
The show was a commemorative one concerning Tower Bridge. And as I had lived in dockland, painted and written books on it, I had many a tale to tell. But not liking the idea of a major speech, I practised and practised it for weeks beforehand. I even dreamed of it. I could think of almost nothing else. But I was committed and had to go through with it. Could I remember my 15 minute oration?
Before my speech was due I was preceded by a Guildhall official who was very much an accomplished speaker.
My turn came. I was introduced on to the stage. I was off.
My tales were obviously popular and were greeted with laughter. Then I forgot my story plan and stopped talking, soon to take up again and reach the end, when I cut the tape and pronounced the exhibition OPEN. There was much applause. One listener thought that my mid-speech stumble was done on purpose for effect.
I hope never again to go through such an ordeal, but should I have to - at a wedding for instance - I have a story planned. It will be directed at the groom to illustrate that as much as we men love women, some take a little understanding at times.
