WELL, here we are - back for a moment in England. And people say to us, "It must be nice to be home." And of course it is. Because after we flew out from seeing you in January, we've been half way round the world, it seems. And here we are, home again. "Home?" What's home? Because, believe it or not, I'm homeless!
     Oh, yes, I've got this great swinging flat in London. In the Royal Garden Hotel, overlooking Kensington Gardens ablaze now with daffodils, and kids sailing their boats in the Round Pond, and brown squirrels rompling all over the statue of Peter Pan (because the author J.M. Barrie used to love these gardens) - and overlooking, too, the home of Princess Margaret and Lord Snowdon. But it's not really what I mean by home.
     You see, by the time we got back from this world tour, it was all planned for the folks and me to move into our new home on the island of Jersey. That's one of the Channel Islands, way out in the Atlantic just off the coast of France, with it's own language and it's own Parliament in spite of belonging to England, and the most wonderful scenery - and still just as near London by air as my original home in Manchester.
     A beautiful house on the top of a cliff, with a view of the Atlantic as far as the eye can reach. And by the time I'd finished, it was really going to be a dream house. With a vast music room where I could have the hi-fi on loud as I liked with no neighbors to worry about, and my own private beach and. . .and. . .But it's still just a dream. Because it stands on a cliff, and because the Atlantic rollers come crashing up to the cliffs, and because the insurance people are afraid that one day the cliff will give way and the house and Mum and Dad and me will go plunging into the sea. So that's out.
     Ah, well! We'll just have to start looking all over again. And in the meantime, this London pad of mind is getting fuller and fuller. Not just with people - all my mates who come bowling round to welcome us back as soon as they know our plane's touched down after another hectic tour - but with things. 'Cos I'm a great collector. I don't know about you, but I hate throwing things away. Newspapers, magazines, even old bills! It used to drive Mum mad. And it takes a real effort of will to make a clean sweep of it all - so that I can start all over again!
     I used to be a mad keen stamp collector. I still am to an extent. But it takes time to stick 'em all in their albums, and time isn't what I've got very much of. Time at home, that is.

So lately my collections have been mostly of bigger things. Like chess sets. I've got some of the most beautifully carved chess sets it's possible to imagine. From all over the world. Hong Kong, Switzerland, Japan, Spain. . .modern ones, antique ones, wood, ivory. . .and although I'll never be in the World Championship class as a player I just love the look and feel of them.
     Masks, too. Primitive masks on the walls. From India and Mexico and Africa (I got some great East African stuff while we were in Holland). And books. Books on comparative religion, which fascinates me. And, well, you can imagine why I need a house! Because otherwise I'll have to leave the flat to the Things, and get a separate flat for myself!
     Mind you, just because we're the Hermits doesn't mean I spend all my time sitting at home admiring my things! Though, come to think of it, if somebody asked me what I planned to do in my old age - in the year Two Thousand and Fifty, say - I suppose I'd have to admit I'd like to settle down miles from anywhere and take it easy. With my things, of course. For a spell, anyway. But in the meantime - well, here's London swinging all around me and I love being a part of it.
     The Cockney humor slays me. I know it sounds crazy for me to say it - because most of the great comedians in England come from Lancashire, where I was born! But when I start chatting to people like Tommy Steele - who's a true Cockney - I just crease up. And there's a thing called Rhyming Slang which is special to the Cockneys. A kind of secret language they've been using for centuries and which takes years to understand. Like titfer for hat, and whistle for suit - because you see, the rhyme is missing! (Tit for tat, whistle and flute - got it?)
     Yes. It's great to get back to London for a bit, even though a part of me hankers after that country retreat. Just a crazy mixed-up kid? Maybe! Because although I'm not a great party-goer, I still love the crowds. Although I like my books and Things, I still love tearing about on a motorbike. In fact, while we were making our last two pictures in Hollywood, Where The Boys Meet The Girls with Connie Francis, and our own Hold On! - I was never off the bike. You could say I was a real rocker!
     So I suppose the solution is a house in the wilds of the country and a house in the middle of London - plus a million hotels while we go touring in between! And in the meantime. . .it's not only me that's homeless. It's the folks, too! Because I'd got them to sell up our home in Lancashire ready to fly over to Jersey. And so for the moment, they're homeless, living with my sister.
     Ah well. . .that's Show business. Or is it? I'll let you know next month.

With Gary Lewis before he
went into the Service.