A Pocketful of Happiness

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Frustrating? I suppose sometimes it was. But at the same time, you know, it was always a bit tongue-in-cheek-y from her,” he says.

An elegant exploration of the profundity of loss. While the memoir will appeal to Grant’s many fans, it may also comfort those struggling with an impending or recent loss.” —LIBRARY JOURNAL In 2005 on the set of Wah-Wah, the film about his childhood he wrote and directed. Photograph: Lions Gate/Allstar I was an out-of-work actor from the southern hemisphere, from nowhere, earning a subsistence wage as a waiter, schlepping home after midnight, listening to “Sweet Dreams (Are Made of This)” on my prized Walkman. Not exactly a “catch” of any kind— and pipe-cleaner thin. Joan on the other hand was already a legend in her field. Such was the success of Richard Eyre’s landmark National Theatre production of Guys and Dolls in 1982, and Joan’s accent coaching, that Barbra Streisand enquired, “Who are these American actors I’ve never heard of?” Which resulted in Joan being interviewed to coach Mitteleuropean accents for Streisand’s directorial debut movie, Yentl. As I’ve been a Streisand fanatic for half a century, the details she recalled of their first meeting have been imprinted, like a talisman, on my memory ever since.

Richard E. Grant's Spanish reading list

Richard's French reading list includes Alexandre Dumas, Robert Louis Stephenson and F. Scott Fitzgerald. Seductive smells to tantalising tastes: the books inspired by southern France This book is a celebration of love and friendship. Including the community who reached out and supported the family through the darkest moments of the final year of Joan's life. Friends, health professionals, palliative care specialists, neighbours. It also exposes the profound heartache when two lives so deeply intertwined are severed. Richard must find a way forward on his own without Joan, after 38 years together. We don't document or talk about death as a society. This book however, gives us insight into the process of dying. Not very good—it’s an impression rather than the real thing and you couldn’t sustain a whole performance doing that. Needs to be as accurate and authentic as possible.” Richard also explores the house where Lorca’s family lived during the poet’s final years, and learns how his eventful life was cut tragically short when he was killed in Granada by a fascist firing squad in August 1936.

What a beautiful relationship they had, and how honestly he conveys the pain following her diagnosis. Incredibly sad and so, so relatable. I particularly connected with the passages where he feels hurt by her outbursts, but understands where that pain and anger comes from, so he just has to bear it. Again the frustration of not being able to be by her side when she’s having the scan. She reappears twenty minutes later.I’m a trained phonetician and don’t really work that way. Any more than I’d ask you to sing me a medley of your greatest hits.” Thank you Richard E Grant for sharing your pain and yet give us the occasional loud laugh in writing.

One of the bravest, strongest, funniest memoirs I’ve ever read.” —Bonnie Garmus, New York Times bestselling author of Lessons in ChemistryGrant’s profoundly moving book, part love letter to his beloved wife, part gossipy memoir about his life and times, will resonate with anyone who ever lost a loved one.” Distract ourselves playing Scrabble most of the afternoon, trying not to fixate on anything other than the here and now. But we know one another too well not to wonder and finally worry out loud— During a matinee interval, the stage manager went around the dressing rooms, asking if anyone knew “the very tanned woman wearing Bermuda shorts and a Hawaiian shirt, who was fast asleep in a house seat and snoring very loudly.” Joan’s birthday. We are unabashed Christmas-aholics, and the house is baubled-up, tree kissing the ceiling, and enough fairy lights to host a Tinker Bell convention. For the past week she’s mentioned feeling breathless and has to pause halfway up the stairs. Nothing more than that. Un-characteristically, for a doctor’s daughter who has resolutely resisted any and every encouragement to see a medic about anything, she suggests calling the doctor, a first in our decades together. This honest and frequently hilarious memoir is written in honor of that challenge—Richard has faithfully kept a diary since childhood, and in these entries he shares raw detail of everything he has experienced: both the pain of losing his beloved wife, and the excitement of their life together, from the role that transformed his life overnight in Withnail and I to his thrilling Oscar Award nomination thirty years later for Can You Ever Forgive Me?

There was stuff that involved body doubles – now how can I say this without giving it away? I can’t tell you what it is, because it’s a plot spoiler. Anyway, there are doubles of things, put it that way. And that was surreal to do.”

Table of Contents

It was at this point that I suddenly felt for him. The guy who goes to the Oscars is the same guy who sits alone in a chain restaurant in Salisbury waiting for his béarnaise sauce to arrive. To have someone always beside you – or even just on the end of the phone – who understands these dizzying shifts and all their attendant lonelinesses, and who loves you wherever in the world you are, is a precious thing indeed. I think he wrote his book too soon, but I also see that he needed to do something, the gap in his life being so unimaginably huge, so very hard to bear. I ask if he thinks this is because he grew up in Eswatini (then called Swaziland) before moving to London in his 20s, so although he can charm his way into English society – even going to Prince Charles and Camilla’s wedding – he is always standing a little to the side, trying to understand it. He smiles kindly at my armchair analysis: “It’s always a little odd to hear oneself defined by someone else, but that makes perfect sense. Yes, exactly.” Sorry, you’re on speakerphone as I’m driving and the line is bad. Please say your name again?” replied Grant. Only thing she says en route is: “Sounds like it’s something serious.” Reach across and squeeze her arm.