|
Post by eaz35173 on Mar 30, 2013 15:11:25 GMT -5
Personal Chef Gill Watson has a book out called Eating My Words. Apparently she was PB's personal chef for a while when he was in London filming TWINE. Here is an excerpt from her blog ... www.gillwatson.co.uk/blog/my-chef-trial-for-pierce-brosnan-007-the-hiring-and-the-firing/ My chef trial for Pierce Brosnan 007. The hiring and the firing. Posted on March 30, 2013 EATING MY WORDS is the book recording my time as Private Chef to Pierce Brosnan, a bulimic model and an arms dealer who shot his last chef. This week, I am going to post a daily excerpt. By the end of the week you’ll hear how 007 fired me. Bank Holiday Monday, 3rd May 1999 My chef agent, Katherine Shields, has called and asked if I would like to trial for the position as Private Chef to Pierce Brosnan while he’s in London filming the Bond film ‘The World is Not Enough‘. I arrived at the address Katherine had given me for Pierce Brosnan in Highgate and was met by an American girl who said she was a friend and colleague of Keeley, Pierce’s girlfriend. “I have to go out now so I’ll quickly show you the kitchen. There’s no one else here so would you mind letting Pierce and the family in when they get back. They haven’t got their key.” No butler then, thank God. I looked around the kitchen and wondered why on earth Pierce Brosnan had photos of Sting all over the walls. The kitchen is fab, all Aga and copper pans with an enormous table in front of patio doors that open onto the garden. I was unpacking all my shopping bags when Dan the lobster man arrived. “Where is he then?” “Cornwall. Sorry, he’s not back until 7.30.” “Never mind, here’s your lobsters” Dan opened the Styrofoam box to reveal the biggest lobsters I had ever seen. At some point I must get a grip on understanding weight, there was enough lobster to feed ten people instead of four. “So he’s staying in Sting’s house is he then?” asked Dan, nodding towards the photos. That explained the Sting obsession then, and the jars of coffee with vanilla pods that had ‘Trudy’s coffee’ written on the side. Dan left and I began my attack on his lobsters. I quickly stuck a knife into each of their brains then turned my back on them while I began cooking the risotto on the Aga. There was a thud as the first lobster hit the floor and began making its way to the patio doors with the knife still sticking out of its back. I tried to stop the other three from following him but two more scuttled off the work surface while I was pulling another one back from the brink. There was nowhere to contain them until they died as they were too big to be held captive in the sink. With one stretch of their legs they would be out. So I let three of them roam while I rocked and twisted the knife in the brain of the fourth feeling like a murderer and begging it to die quickly. After a twenty minute struggle the lobsters finally gave up on life and I got on with preparing the meal. At 7.40 pm there was a knock at the door and the Brossies were back from holiday. Five minutes later a masseur arrived to give Pierce a massage before dinner. How lovely. I could have done with a massage myself after the stress of murdering the lobsters. Pierce wandered into the kitchen to eat dinner in his dressing gown at the kitchen table with his fiancée, Keeley, their two year old son, Dylan and the American friend. Dylan passed on the lobster and ate a bowl of steamed edamame (fresh soya beans) which he is allegedly addicted to. I pretended to be looking through the fridges while secretly watching the reactions of Pierce and co and listening for comments. “We’ve eaten some of the best food in the world over the weekend but none of it compares to this meal.” My God Pierce Brosnan is lovely. Or sarcastic. He actually said that my apple tart was not a dessert but a little piece of heaven and asked if he could take one to Pinewood Studios tomorrow so he could have everyone taste it. “I’ll be the envy of everyone because I have a star class private chef” I was so tempted to say, “Are you taking the piss?” But then Keeley said, “What are you doing for the rest of the week Gill?” To which Pierce added, “What are you doing for the rest of your life?” It’s all a bit surreal and I am sure they are going to find out that I am just little Gilly from Lancashire who has no chef qualifications and then the food will suddenly taste a little bitter in their mouths. They certainly would have questioned my star chef qualities if they had arrived when the lobsters were running around the kitchen with knives sticking out of their backs. To be continued . . .
|
|
|
Post by eaz35173 on Mar 31, 2013 8:02:21 GMT -5
Part 2 ... www.gillwatson.co.uk/blog/pierce-brosnan-and-peter-soros-fight-over-me-little-me/Pierce Brosnan and Peter Soros fight over me. Little me!EATING MY WORDS is the book recording my time as Private Chef to Pierce Brosnan, a bulimic model and an arms dealer who shot his last chef. Today I am posting the second installment of my Brosnan chapter. Tuesday 4 May 1999 Last week I trialled for a position as Private Chef to the financier Peter Soros and his wife, the writer, Lady Antonia Fraser. Peter Soros has offered me the job but I have decided to trial for Pierce Brosnan before making any decisions. Peter Soros now has my mobile number. I know this because he woke me up this morning. “Gill, it’s Peter Soros. Did your agent tell you that I offered you the job?” He said everything I cooked was exceptional and he knew we would get on etc etc. I did not even bother with the ‘I have to get back to Torquay’ line. Instead I told him I had started a trial with Pierce Brosnan yesterday. “Promise not to take a job with Brosnan until you have spoken to me first, okay? What did you cook for him, anyway?” “Lobsters and risotto. I had a spot of bother killing the lobsters though and they were running around the kitchen with knives sticking out of their brains.” “Look, I have spent every summer of my life in Maine. The quickest way to kill a lobster is to drop it in boiling water. Forget what everyone says about mashing their brains.” “Ok. I’ll call you as soon as I’ve finished the trial.” “Or I’ll call you. I’m going to track you down wherever you are chef and hound you until you work for me.” Nice. In the mean time I have to get myself over to Brian Lay Greengrocers in Hampstead to shop for tonight’s meal at the Brossies although Pierce will be absent as he is dining out. The Michanicou greengrocers in Holland Park have recommended Brian Lay but have told me I have to ignore the rubbish on the shelves and ask to see their cold room. Sounds interesting. Wednesday 5 May 1999 Early morning alarm call from Peter Soros. “Guess who was sitting opposite me at dinner last night? Pierce Brosnan.” I thought he was joking but apparently not. They were at a dinner hosted by Ralph Lauren at Mirabelle. Peter Soros said he had leant across the table and told Pierce, “Mr Brosnan, you look ravenous. Did you not eat too well last night?” But Pierce replied, “I ate exceptionally well actually” “So I told him straight, Gill. I said, ‘Yes, I know because my chef was cooking for you. Leave off or I’ll spike your Martini.’” I tried to tell him that threatening James Bond would probably get him killed with a poisoned dart but the man is too scary to care. He asked why I was considering taking a temporary job with the Brossies when he was offering a permanent position. Becoming momentarily brave I said, “I’ve been told that none of your chefs have lasted longer than a couple of weeks so I see no security in taking the position with you.” “I have never offered a chef a permanent position. They have all been on month long trials. You’ve done your trial. To stop you worrying, I’ll make you a deal. Become my chef then if you decide you cannot work with me after one month I will still pay you up until the point where your job with Brosnan would have ended.” “You are making my life very difficult by making such ridiculous offers” I told Mr Scary. “No Gill, I am making your life very, very easy. You have no decision to make. Now can we talk about a permanent position?” “We’ll talk on Friday when I’ve finished the Brosnan trial.” I must say it is rather nice to feel wanted but I am scared I will end up saying yes to Peter Soros just to shut him up. I have two more days with the Brossies. If they definitely do want me then I will have to decide what the hell I am going to do – if I take one of the jobs or I go back to Torquay, Jackie and the restaurant. To be continued tomorrow when I make my decision and seal my fate.
|
|
|
Post by tlowrites on Apr 1, 2013 12:43:45 GMT -5
Oh this is brilliant. Please post more when there is more!
|
|
|
Post by eaz35173 on Apr 1, 2013 13:11:02 GMT -5
I think there will be 3 parts to this story - so as soon as I get notification on the 3rd one, I'll post it!!
|
|
|
Post by eaz35173 on Apr 1, 2013 18:06:44 GMT -5
Part 3 ... www.gillwatson.co.uk/blog/i-am-now-officially-on-the-payroll-of-a-james-bond-movie/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+co%2FXEhw+%28Gill+Watson+co+uk%29 I am now officially on the payroll of a James Bond movie. Posted on April 1, 2013
EATING MY WORDS is the book recording my time as Private Chef to Pierce Brosnan, a bulimic model and an arms dealer who shot his last chef. Here’s the 3rd installment of my Brosnan chapter. Thursday 6 May 1999 Oliver Reed and Dirk Bogarde are dead. Pierce called from the studio today to ask if he was allowed to bring some friends back for dinner. He actually asked permission from me! I can’t imagine Peter Soros ever doing that. As I had no idea of the likes and dislikes of the friends I decided to do a table full of Middle Eastern foods; roast peppers, fried aubergines with pine nuts, falafel, tahina, kibbeh, griddled halloumi cheese, fatoush salad, cous cous, hot, fluffy Arab bread and spiced chicken kebabs. They all sat down and happily stuffed themselves, then I heard Pierce say, “Oh no I’m not going to have any room left for pudding.” Oops. Once again I had failed to make a dessert. Once again I started looking for Greek yoghurt. I quickly chopped up a few mangoes and papayas and piled them into a big Moroccan dish, plopped the yoghurt in the middle of it, drizzled it with honey and squeezed passion fruit pulp et voila! They all went barmy. Then Pierce skipped over and said, “Don’t you think it odd that we met all those years ago at L’Escargot and now we are here with me begging you to be our chef.” Bless his little Bondy heart. He had celebrated the end of shooting ‘Mrs Doubtfire’ at L’Escargot when I was waitressing there. Pierce gave me a big fat cheque which I am desperate to cash but Matthew (the flatmate) refuses to let me bank it until he has taken it to work to show everyone on Monday. He has become hysterically star struck and could hardly sleep last night because Pierce is sending over a key to Sting’s house for me today. The Brossies are all off to Amsterdam for the weekend and I have promised to cook for them when they get back on Sunday whether I decide to take the job or not. Matthew pointed out that we could have a party in Sting’s house over the weekend as we now have a key. Sting is very lucky that we are too honest and too scared to consider it. Tomorrow is D Day and I have to make my mind up by 12 noon. Peter Soros called my agent to ask how much I wanted if I were to take the position and she told him 50 grand!! I would never have been able to ask for that with a straight face. Friday 7 May 1999 I have just ‘phoned Keeley (Pierce’s girlfriend) and asked if I could clear £500 a week with them, after tax. She said yes, so I did too. It’s only for a couple of months until filming the new Bond film is finished so is not as scary as signng the rest of my life away to Peter Soros. The best thing about taking the Brossie job is that I get to watch Richard and Judy in the morning as I will only be working from 6-10pm. I may even find the time to do some writing. AND Pierce and Keeley are both going on diets from tomorrow so there will be no more puds to worry about. Pierce has been told off by the studio for looking porky and the shots of him from the beginning of ’The World is Not Enough’ are vastly different from the middle bit which he is filming now. He is going to have to lose some weight and then re shoot. The only problem then was telling Mr Scary Soros of my decision but I thought that as the agency had said I wanted £50 grand he may not be too worried that I had taken the Brossie job. Not so. I called and bravely told him that I had decided to take the Brosnan job as it was closer to where I was living and as it was evenings only I would have more free time to write. He asked what they were paying me and when I told him he said, “So if they are paying you that for 20 hours a week that means you would want £52,000 from me to double those hours.” I said nothing because as well as being hopeless at maths I would never, ever dream of expecting that much from anyone. When I finally got through to him that I was definitely turning him down he was surprisingly nice and said he would ask me again when the Brosnan job ended. So everything has turned out okay in the end. Tonight I am going to celebrate by taking Matthew-the-flatmate for a slap up meal and a million bottles of wine. Saturday 8 May 1999 Slightly sore head this morning after dinner at El Parador. We had morcilla (Spanish black pudding), venison with calabrese, griddled chicken thighs, prawns with garlic and chorizo, salt cod with butter beans and cheese and spinach parcels. All washed down with their lovely house Cava. Yum, yum, yum. Matthew had to finish an article this morning so I decided to go to Muswell Hill and buy a pet hamster for him. He has been wittering on about wanting a hamster for ages. At least it will keep him company when I go back to Torquay after the Brosnan job. Matt already has a cage that became vacant after his nephew’s gerbil came to a sticky end last summer. Muswell Hill, despite looking quite close to Tufnell Park on the A-Z, is a very annoying two buses and a tube ride away. Fortunately the shop had Matthew’s dream pet in stock. There it was, running madly around its cage; just what he wanted – a horrid ginger ball with ratty teeth. The assistant popped it into a flimsy cardboard carrying box and off I went to wait for bus number one. Just as the bus approached I felt a nasty nip to my tummy and looked down to find the bloody thing had eaten its way through the box, bitten through my jacket and T shirt and was trying to eat me. I ran back to the shop, screaming like a mad woman with the hideous rodent hanging off me. Trust me to buy a man eating hamster. The assistant re-housed it in a bigger, sturdier cardboard box and off I went again to wait for another bus. All was well (other than my worry that I could have contracted a dreadful disease from the evil creature’s bite) until I emerged from the tube at Tufnell Park to find rain lashing against the pavements. There was not a cab in sight so I had no choice but to walk to Matthew’s. Within seconds the cardboard box was soaked and becoming floppy so I pushed it inside my jacket and legged it back to the flat before ‘killer pet’ could start eating its way out again. When Matthew opened the door I let him know just what I had been through to buy him his bloody hamster, showing him the teeth marks to prove it. “Never mind Gilly, you’ll be fine. Let me see her! Is she ginger?” I put the crumpled, soggy box on the kitchen table and gingerly (ha) opened it. And she was dead. After all the trouble I had gone to, there she was lying on her side, devoid of any signs of life. I held my make-up mirror to her mouth just to make sure. ”Murderer!” How ungrateful can you get? “Poor Bianca. We’ll have to bury her in the garden”. “Not in this rain we won’t.” Then in true horror movie style her head swivelled round and she scrambled to her feet, out of the collapsed box, fell off the table with a thud and then she was off. After clutching each other and screaming we then spent a good half hour chasing her about the flat before Matthew managed to throw a towel over her and get her into the cage. Matthew and Bianca are now sleeping off the trauma of the past few hours while I am writing this and trying to think what I should cook for the Brossies when they get back from Amsterdam tomorrow night. To be continued tomorrow when preparations are made for Pierce’s 40th birthday bash and I beging to feel that something is going on and it’s not good.
|
|
|
Post by Ace on Apr 2, 2013 13:34:06 GMT -5
Pierce's 40th birthday bash was in 1993 so that should be quite the trick to have it during the filming of TWINE. I wonder how much celebrity or even work with high profile clients someone gets after they've written a book about their experiences. My guess, not much.
|
|
|
Post by eaz35173 on Apr 2, 2013 17:37:36 GMT -5
I'm guessing you're right, Ace Part 4 ... www.gillwatson.co.uk/blog/pierce-asks-for-breast-milk-for-dinner-and-whos-been-hiding-chocolate-bars/?utm_source=feedburner&utm_medium=email&utm_campaign=Feed%3A+co%2FXEhw+%28Gill+Watson+co+uk%29Pierce asks for breast milk for dinner and who’s been hiding chocolate bars? EATING MY WORDS is the book recording my time as Private Chef to Pierce Brosnan, a bulimic model and an arms dealer who shot his last chef. Here’s the 4th instalment of my Brosnan chapter. Monday 10 May 1999 I called my agent this morning to tell her that I had decided to take the Pierce Brosnan job instead of the Peter Soros one. “Yes, I know. Peter Soros called me first thing and said, ‘Gill’s gone all Hollywood on us’. But he was fine about it and said if you ever changed your mind, he’d be there.” A nice man after all. Scary but nice. Tuesday 11 May 1999 It is Pierce’s birthday on Sunday and he has decided to have his children and grandchildren here for dinner on Friday. I asked if he had any special requests (stripper?) and he asked for lobster salad followed by lobster risotto. They really like their lobsters. And risotto. What is it about sloppy rice that they like so much? Keeley says he would also love a birthday cake with a carrot cake sponge and cream cheese icing. Pierce was filming today and came home this afternoon looking exhausted. He announced that he was going to bed and did not want any dinner unless I could find some mothers’ breast milk for him. I presumed that was a joke. An hour later he ‘phoned from his bed to say that now he may be able to manage some buttery mash and sea bass fillets. As it was nearing five o’clock I cabbed it down to the Hampstead fishmongers and left the cab running while I ran in and picked up the fish. Although mixing protein and carbohydrate is strictly against the diet rules I decided not to mention it and let Pierce have his wicked way. From tomorrow, with the exception of the birthday meal, it is strict dieting for the Brosnans. Today I have cleared all the rubbish out of the fridge and bought dozens of Tupperware containers to fill with healthy goodies to try to keep them on the straight and narrow. There are Pierce snack boxes and Keeley snack boxes labelled with their names and filled with vegetable sticks and gorgeous fruit. Keeley, who does not eat meat, has asked me to make up boxes of peculiar salads for her such as turnip, orange and white radish to eat throughout the day. Then they can have a reasonable evening meal of either carbohydrate or protein with vegetables. But no pudding. Keeley had asked for butternut squash and coriander soup tonight and I spent three hours trying to get the flavour right. It was just too sweet but I was reluctant to put anything as sharp as lemon in it. In the end I threw in a dried out old lime which had been lurking in the bottom of the fruit bowl and in twenty minutes the soup was transformed from a cloying gloup into something fresh and nutty and delicious. Keeley is writing a cookery book and asked exactly what had gone into the soup but I did not have a clue about quantities of ingredients I had used over the three hours of messing around. After some hesitation I had to say, “Ehm, I can’t really remember.” Which no doubt gave her the impression that it was shop bought. And I could hardly tell her that it was a manky old lime that saved the day. As I had come in early today to sort out the diet snacks I met Maria, the housekeeper, for the first time. She was busy washing up all my pans from last night’s dinner. I had presumed that a cleaner came in the morning and he/she would be the one doing the hard labour. I felt very guilty that this lady was clearing up my mess and vowed that no matter how much Pierce and Keeley insisted that I do nothing more than cook, I would leave the kitchen spotless from now on. Maria is a lovely Italian lady who was Sting and Trudy’s housekeeper when they were living in the house but since they have been renting it out Maria has stayed as part of the rental deal, as has Caroline the secretary. Maria told me today that her favourite celebrity to have stayed there is Tom Hanks. “He is such a lovely, polite man. He even sent roses on my birthday.” Maria is obviously very special to Mr and Mrs Sting as she is going to the First Holy Communion of one of their children this coming weekend. Wednesday 12 May 1999 Matthew and I went into Camden Town this morning. I wanted to shop at the fabulous Freshlands organic supermarket to replenish the Brossie snacks and buy beetroot, apples and ginger to make fresh juices for them. Matt nipped next door to the pet shop to buy hay for the killer hamster. He had not been gone more than two minutes when Boy George walked in. Boy George had not been gone more than two minutes when Matthew walked back in. “You just missed Boy George.” “What? You mean Boy George my greatest pop hero whose every song I have sung in every Karaoke bar I have ever been to?” “Yup, the very same.” “And I was buying hay for Bianca. Great.” I think the novelty of owning a hamster is beginning to wear off already and Matthew has realised that Bianca is a liability who stinks and keeps us awake all night with her scratching about and running on her bloody wheel. I left Matthew and jumped in a cab to Highgate to discover that the snacks and the juices in the fridge had been left untouched. So, were Pierce and Keeley starving themselves or were they cheating? “Check down the sides of the sofas.” said the secretary “I think you’ll find your answer there.” Someone is hiding chocolate bars. Keeley asked if I could call a certain Mark Gilroy at the executive suite in Harrods and ask him to send over some lion’s mane, shitake, Portobello and trompettes de mort mushrooms for her risotto tonight. “And how would you like me to send them over?” enquired a very frosty voice in Knightsbridge. “In one of your lovely green and gold vans?” I asked, sheepishly. “Not today. Shall I put them in a cab?” “Ehm, yes. I suppose so, if that’s the only way.” The cab was £45! How can it cost £45 for a cab from Knightsbridge to Highgate? And the mushrooms were £51! For a tiny box of mushrooms barely big enough for a one person risotto. Tonight before dinner, Keeley asked if I would taste Champagnes with them to decide which to have at Pierce’s full on Hollywood style birthday bash on Saturday. Keeley said she liked the pink best and asked what I thought. The pink was the one which I had secretly spat back into my glass because it was sour. How could she possibly not have noticed? “Yes, lovely.” said I, knowing there was no point in disagreeing. Sometimes you have to know when to keep your mouth shut. Thursday 13 May 1999 Tonight I have had to cancel the 20 lobsters that I had ordered from Dan the lovely lobster man for Pierce’s birthday dinner tomorrow. Pierce has decided that he no longer wants to see anyone and has once again taken to his bed after coming back from filming. There is a strange atmosphere in the house. Everyone seems a bit edgy and grumpy. Something is going on but I don’t know what. To be continued tomorrow when Pierce changes his mind yet again about his birthday dinner and all his staff are presented with an unwelcome surprise.
|
|
|
Post by tlowrites on Apr 3, 2013 11:50:32 GMT -5
Dun dun dun...
Very interesting.
|
|
|
Post by eaz35173 on Apr 3, 2013 12:49:08 GMT -5
The final installment ... www.gillwatson.co.uk/blog/the-party-is-over-for-both-pierce-and-i/The party is over. For both Pierce and I. EATING MY WORDS is the book recording my time as Private Chef to Pierce Brosnan, a bulimic model and an arms dealer who shot his last chef. Today we have the final instalment from my Brosnan chapter. Friday 14 May 1999 What a mad day! I am back at Matthew’s having a much deserved glass of wine and trying to make sense of what the hell was going on in the Brosnan household today. After saying yesterday that he no longer wanted any kind of celebration today for his birthday – no cake or anything – Pierce then decided to call this lunchtime and announce that it was all back on and the family were still coming over so it would be eight people for dinner. I took a cab to the Highate house and whipped up a quick Pavlova, stuck it in the Aga then cabbed it down to the Hampstead fishmongers to buy up everything they had. Managed to get six live lobsters for the risotto but had to get crab for the salad. Back at the house, Caroline the lovely secretary popped into the kitchen and handed me a bunch of papers. “It’s a confidentiality agreement which we all have to sign before tomorrow.” I told her I could only sign it when I had time to read it and that was not going to be before I left tonight. I made a carrot cake as per Keeley’s original request and then set about dropping the live lobsters into boiling water, as instructed by Peter Soros. Unfortunately, Pierce and Keeley managed to walk in as the first four lobsters were trying to climb out of the bubbling pan. Keeley let out a scream and left the room and Pierce simply said, “You will go to hell for that, Gill”. I could see his point. Amazingly, by the time everyone arrived for dinner all was ready and I was calm again. Then, just as I was finishing the risotto Pierce decided that he should go off to the pub with his son Sean. And did not come back for an hour and a half! The lobster risotto was not happy about being kept waiting and neither was I. Everyone eventually managed to get to the table but it was so late and most of the group were so sloshed that they all wandered off before dessert, leaving Pierce on his own. I put the enormous raspberry Pavlova in front of him and wished him a happy birthday. “You’ve given me a plate of breasts for my birthday.” he said, trying to focus on the raspberry topped mounds. Then he wandered off, leaving the meringue to go soggy. I considered dancing into the sitting room, singing Happy Birthday with 46 candles blazing on the cake but instead decided to clean up, leave the cake on the kitchen table with the pack of candles and a lighter and go home. I have now poured myself a second glass of wine and read the contract. It says that I am not allowed to discuss it with anyone or even show it to my own solicitor, that I can be fired at any time without being given a reason and (this is the best bit) if any personal details were to reach the media about Pierce or his family at any time then I agreed to let Mr Brosnan’s lawyers pursue me for unlimited damages. Does he really expect anyone in their right minds to sign this? I was trying to distract myself from the fury I felt by having another glass of wine and reading The Times when Matthew came home, so we read it together. Scotland Yard has announced rewards totalling £150,000 for the capture of Jill Dando’s killer. They are still looking for a blue Range Rover and think that maybe a gang of three men worked together to carry out the killing. The gun used was either a Walther PPK or a Beretta, known as ‘the woman’s gun’. The article says that the PPK gun is used by undercover Police in Germany. Matthew says he heard that it is also the gun used by James Bond, and sure enough when we look it up on the internet it says that the early Bond used a Beretta but was later issued with a PPK Walther. Saturday 15th May 1999 Tonight is Pierce’s big, birthday bash so I was not working but I did drop by to return the contract – unsigned. In the entrance hall on a central table was the biggest display of purpley-blue delphiniums I had ever seen. They were so beautiful that they momentarily distracted me from the nasty business which had brought me to the house. Then Caroline the secretary appeared and I asked her if she had read the ridiculous contract. It seemed she had flicked through it but had signed anyway. She thought it made no difference to her as she was leaving soon to marry one of Sting’s musicians. “But you are agreeing to be hounded by Pierce’s legal team if anything personal gets into the press about him, even if you’re not working for him anymore. You must not sign it and neither must Maria.” I have a sneaky suspicion that I may be returning to Torquay very soon. But I may just give Rhubarb, the company who is organising Pierce’s party a call first. Just to see what they are all about. Their delphinium display has captured my interest. Sunday 16th May 1999 Today the newspapers ran a story about how Mr Brosnan has a problem getting out of the James Bond role when he is at home. Well where did that story come from, I wonder? Certainly not from me but if I had signed the contract then I would have agreed to let Pierce’s heavy mob try to sue me for damages anyway. Monday 17th May 1999 Pierce ‘phoned today to talk (argue) about the contract and strangely asked if I was alone which made me a touch paranoid. Then an hour later Katherine the agent called and said, “Oh no, what happened? Pierce says he doesn’t want you to go back.” Well what a surprise. Do I book a train ticket to Torquay or should I give Rhubarb a ring? Tonight’s Evening Standard has a piece, complete with photographs, of Pierce doing a speedboat scene at Docklands. The article says that despite the studio’s best efforts to keep the location a secret, someone has let the cat out of the bag. My mum is absolutely convinced that it was me because I had already told her how Pierce chats away every evening about what he’s been doing and where he’s been filming that day. Of course my mum knew all the details so maybe she told them. Maybe not. I know I should be going back to Torquay and the part of me that is feeling very hard done by and disillusioned with this cooking for celebrities lark is very tempted to crawl back to Jackie with my tail between my legs. But another part of me is saying that there is no going back. See what turns up and get writing the bloody book. So there you have it, the concluding part of my Pierce Brosnan chapter.
|
|
|
Post by eaz35173 on Apr 3, 2013 12:53:36 GMT -5
That's one heck of a confidentiality agreement - not even allowed to show it to your lawyer - wow! That explains why she is spilling about it now, cuz she never signed it.
|
|
|
Post by tlowrites on Apr 3, 2013 18:02:10 GMT -5
Wow. Interesting indeed! I wonder if she took the job with the guy who wanted her permanently?
|
|
|
Post by eaz35173 on Apr 3, 2013 19:04:02 GMT -5
I subscribed to her blog, so I'll let you know, if she ever mentions it.
|
|
|
Post by paulling on Apr 7, 2013 17:19:42 GMT -5
hi guys, I dont like the idea of the book. This kind of books (and their content) are probably the reason why PB as well as other celebrities want their staff (incl personal chef) to sign NDAs. They don't want their name to be used as a pitch for somebody's else business as it was in this case. On the other hand I wonder why she didn't mention names of "bulimic model" and "an arms dealer". Was she affraid of something or they had more persuasive lawyers than PB's. Publishing such text, in my opinion, proves that this kind of confidentiality agreements are necessary when you are celebrity and want to keep your personal life personal. There's no need to feel indignant if you have pure intentions. To be honest, I also wouldn't be interested in hiring somebody as a personal staff to serve in my own home and watch me in my everyday personal life and then describe it publically in order to make money on it.
|
|
|
Post by eaz35173 on Apr 7, 2013 17:51:32 GMT -5
hi guys, I dont like the idea of the book. This kind of books (and their content) are probably the reason why PB as well as other celebrities want their staff (incl personal chef) to sign NDAs. They don't want their name to be used as a pitch for somebody's else business as it was in this case. On the other hand I wonder why she didn't mention names of "bulimic model" and "an arms dealer". Was she affraid of something or they had more persuasive lawyers than PB's. Publishing such text, in my opinion, proves that this kind of confidentiality agreements are necessary when you are celebrity and want to keep your personal life personal. There's no need to feel indignant if you have pure intentions. To be honest, I also wouldn't be interested in hiring somebody as a personal staff to serve in my own home and watch me in my everyday personal life and then describe it publically in order to make money on it. I can certainly see your point about this. Since this particular part of the story dealt with Pierce, there was no mention of the "bulimic model" or "arms dealer". I wonder if, in her book, they are mentioned by name - but I probably won't be buying it. And some of the things she said/implied about Pierce and Keely weren't exactly flattering. As a celebrity, you are out in the public eye whether you like it or not. And I can see why those people that you keep closely around you would have to be trustworthy and would need an NDA, as well. I definitely, wouldn't want that in my life either.
|
|
|
Post by Barbara on Mar 8, 2023 0:26:00 GMT -5
Someone sent me this very thread as I am debating what miniature food to include in that action figure of Pierce I am putting together for charity.
Alas, we all know now how dangerous the British tabloids are, and how much technology they use to spy and blackmail people. I am not sure it would have been as clear during the filming of The World Is Not Enough.
There was another woman chef who worked for them while he filmed The Thomas Crown Affair and she was asked to go with them to London, but wouldn't sign an NDA so she didn't make through the front door. She too, would wind up writing about them, although she never used their names. (She did though mention how much Dylan loved those beans.)
For the record, I don't think Pierce himself knew what was in that NDA. The Eon folks probably wrote it up or the lawyers attached to the Bond machine. And they might have a point...
So clearly chefs have a problem with NDAs and after two experiences, back to back, with chefs revealing secrets, I am sure the Brosnans were very careful from then on with who they hired.
Also, hello Ace! I hope you are well....
|
|