'Rebecca' by Daphne du Maurier was the first grown-up book I read, when I was aged about 12.
“'Rebecca' by Daphne du Maurier was the first grown-up book I read, when I was aged about 12.”
— Mary Nightingale · Aged
The World Motivation
'Rebecca' by Daphne du Maurier was the first grown-up book I read, when I was aged about 12.
“'Rebecca' by Daphne du Maurier was the first grown-up book I read, when I was aged about 12.”
— Mary Nightingale · Aged
'Rebecca' by Daphne du Maurier was the first grown-up book I read, when I was aged about 12.
I've always got loads on my plate, so I should concentrate on fewer things. I take multitasking to a ridiculous degree.
We spent our honeymoon at a fabulous place called the Grapevine Canyon Ranch near Tucson, Arizona, and totally fell for the City Slickers fantasy, so it would be wonderful to take the children there now that they are old enough to appreciate the thrill of cattle herding on horseback and sleeping out in the desert.
On screen you have to look elegant, understated and appropriate, and I used to spend masses on designer stuff, but now I get everything in Zara.
I have a daughter, Catherine, aged 30. I have a 9-year-old son, Nathaniel, a 7-year-old son, Ridley, and a 6-year-old daughter, Truma. I'm 68. The age gap between the younger kids and me is not something I think about much because I feel physically about like I did when I was 40, or at least, I think I do.
I've been cycling ever since I was a kid. I remember taking my cycling proficiency test aged seven - I got to school at 7:30 A.M. to practise, I was so nervous. After that, I always cycled to school.
When I finished up at Arsenal in 2002, aged 36, I was asked if I fancied a season at Rangers but I would have just been picking up money. Besides I wanted to be remembered as a one-club man.
It would come as quite a shock to my younger self that my first job was modelling. I was scouted, aged 18, when I went to Paris to visit my older sister, Yvonne, who was at uni there.
I took a while to fall in love with Val d'Isere. It was November 1985 and, keen to delay getting a 'serious job' after university, I had signed up for a season as a chalet girl. What struck me first back then, as I rolled into town on the Bladon Lines bus, was the sheer ugliness of the place.