Thinking today of Marianne Faithfull. She was an extraordinary woman, and I was blessed to have known her. She was a new friend, when we spent the day together last May. It’s a day I’ll never forget.

A few highlights from our time together—

She had a hard time believing me when I told her she was an important part of history, but of course she was. She’s one of the “it” girls of the Swinging 60s, along with Twiggy and Mary Quant and Jean Shrimpton. She helped set the style, the tone, the vibe. She didn’t believe me. She thought she was forgotten and irrelevant. We actually argued about it, till she finally snapped, “Don’t tell me what to think about my own life!”

Well, I told her anyway.

She was there to witness history. In Robert Fraser’s flat, at Paul’s house at Cavendish. As part of the “All You Need Is Love” broadcast. She was there for the Redlands bust — the girl in the bearskin rug with the Mars bar in her… well, you know.

I asked her why she’d written her memoir over again and republished it. Her answer was that the first one wasn’t funny enough.

My favourite story? This one—

At the time, she was living in a (very posh) care home due to long-term covid. She was barred from smoking, and of course, that included weed. She spent a bit of time during our visit doing her best to convince me to bring her a “fat spliff” next time I visited. Sadly, I didn’t get the chance, but I’ll not lie — I was gonna give it a go, because getting high with Marianne Faithfull — now that would be a story.

So long, Marianne. You were a hell of a dame.

PS — If you haven’t heard the original mixes of “Broken English,” treat yourself tonight. The whole album is a masterpiece, but esp those original mixes.