What a Dame!

I was in a major funk today - but I think ninme managed to pull me out of it. Joan Collins reminds me of my Mom; and how true her statements are.

My first glimpse of Las Vegas airport was in the early 1960s, when I’d gone to see Sammy Davis at the Sands hotel. The airport was so tiny and primitive that the Las Vegas sign was made with twigs, and there were only two runways and one terminal. The ’strip’ was just a two-lane highway, which had a few two or three-storey hotels - El Rancho, the Sands, the Flamingo and a few others. But the star contingent of performers was fantastically represented, and every name in showbiz competed for their neon place in the sun. No woman would be caught dead after 6pm unless they wore a silk, satin or chiffon cocktail dress over which was slung a mink stole. The men were equally groomed, all tanned, brilliantined and snappily dressed. James Bond was right at home in this environment.

I could hardly believe the transformation recently when I went to visit my friend Judy Bryer. The glamour of Ian Fleming’s Vegas is far, far away from the reality of today, and I can’t picture James Bond trying to pursue the nefarious Blofeld while stuck in a traffic jam on the strip or trying to chase him on foot among the morbidly obese tourists jostling for space on the sidewalk, battling massive swathes of fat wrapped in Lycra.

American in my Mom's prime. Lost world. Lost world.

As for Joan Collins in the 50s and 60s - heck, she looks a lot like my Mom did (that's where I got my good looks).

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