Many years ago I went into a hotel bar in the New Forest, and Brucie was sitting alone at a little table, drinking - he was performing in Bournemouth. He looked totally miserable and sad. I recalled reading in the press that his marriage had recently collapsed, and he didn't come out of the mess smelling of roses. He was drinking red wine, and that jaw was on the floor. I waited 'till his glass was empty, went across and offered to buy him another. He was not pleasant, shall we say 'a bit gruff' . . . . didn't want any contact. So - being me - I bought him another, came back to his table, and said 'May I join you?' He couldn't refuse. He was deep in his own personal problems. But then, it was amazing - with an audience of just one, he switched back into life again! The true Bruce was what we saw on stage - that was what he lived for. RIP, Sir Bruce. . . .Michael xxx