A YEN TO SHOP

A few days after Freddie’s Mad Hat party, Queen bounced back into the charts with ‘Who Wants to Live Forever’. This kept Freddie feeling on top of the world as we took off for our Japanese holiday at the end of September 1986. It was a trip of a lifetime, and cost Freddie well over £ 1 million. Joe packed Freddie’s cases – one for shirts and socks, another for jeans and jackets.

Freddie had been to Japan before and liked to regale me with stories of his previous visits. ‘Really, the best time to go out is the spring when the azaleas are in bloom, ’ he said. Azaleas were his favourite. He also said he was looking forward to buying things in Japan for Garden Lodge. He had finally set his heart on transforming the house, which still had bare walls and empty rooms, into a proper home for us all.

Our hostess during our Japanese trip was Misa Watanabe, who handled all Queen’s affairs in Japan. Freddie bought her an exquisite Lalique lead crystal vase as a present. It was made in France but prohibitively expensive to buy in Japan. The vase was far too delicate to be entrusted to baggage handlers, so we took it with us as hand luggage. But when we went through security, to Freddie’s annoyance the vase failed to show up on the X-ray machine and the security people demanded we open it.

We flew out first-class on a direct twelve-hour Japan Airlines flight to Tokyo. When we touched down at about four in the afternoon local time Misa Watanabe, a slight, stylish woman in her forties, was waiting to greet us. She’d also arranged for a small contingent of hysterical Freddie fans to be there, too.

Freddie introduced me with: ‘This is Jim, my new man. ’ Then he whispered to her quietly for a minute. Although I couldn’t hear what they were saying, I could tell it was about me – and I didn’t need a university degree to realise his words were complimentary. Also waiting at the airport for Freddie was another trusted friend of his, Itami, a former bodyguard who owned a private security company and always looked after Freddie in Japan.

The drive into Tokyo took a good hour, weaving slowly through bumper-to-bumper rush-hour traffic. And when the car stopped it wasn’t at the hotel but outside a massive department store called Seibu. The shop had stayed open specially for Freddie, the ultimate shopper. He was in his element as he was greeted by an endless line of meticulously attentive managers and sales assistants.

Freddie shopped for the next four hours. There were at least seven floors, and we combed each one for beautiful things to buy. Freddie’s battle cry was ‘Shop till you drop. ’ He bought a lacquered cabinet in purple, cups, bowls, chopstick-rests and dozens of pairs of chopsticks – some, costing £ 75 each, rippled with real gold and silver strands. Everything was ridiculously expensive.

Freddie was already getting ten per cent discount, but Misa ran around behind Freddie demanding that the assistants put everything on her account. ‘If it’s charged to me I’ll get a further fifteen per cent off, ’ she trilled. So Freddie was really on twenty-five per cent discount.

Freddie could have gone on shopping all night. He loved everything Japanese so much he seemed to want to own everything in sight. Eventually he was dragged away. Standing outside on the pavement, I was fascinated by the teeming streets filled with little black heads darting about quickly and smoothly like large worker ants. The speedy, noisy activity at pedestrian crossings was another remarkable sight: just a buzzing blur.

I drank in everything and Freddie smiled. ‘If a natural blonde walked by, immaterial of sex, everyone would stop and stare, ’ he observed. At last we drove to our hotel.

We were staying at the Ocura. When we arrived, we discovered that Misa had reserved Freddie the hotel’s extraordinary Emperor’s Suite – a penthouse like no other. It was so large it even boasted a smaller self-contained suite for private staff to stay in. The main doors led into a long hallway, and through a door on the right was a magnificent L-shaped sitting room walled in glass looking out over mesmerising views of the city. The master bedroom had a massive en suite bathroom with a sunken bath big enough for ten. Joe’s rooms, the suite within, included his own kitchen and sitting room.

Misa had arranged for chilled champagne and canapes to be waiting. Freddie gave Misa the now only partly wrapped Lalique vase, apologising profusely for its sorry-looking state. It made no difference; Misa was delighted. Then trays of Japanese food started arriving and everyone tucked in. When Misa and her team finally left, Freddie and I turned in.

He soon drifted off to sleep, but not me. I had my first taste of jet-lag and it drove me to distraction. At four in the morning I couldn’t lie awake any longer, so to relieve the monotony I got up and started watching Japanese television, with the volume barely audible so as not to wake his nibs. I didn’t go back to bed that night; I just waited for Freddie to wake up.

We had breakfast in the middle of the morning, and by noon we were ready to ‘shop! shop! shop! ’ all over again. Itami was waiting outside the suite as we emerged, and accompanied us to the lobby. Here four or five quiet fans were waiting patiently for Freddie, each bearing a small, exquisitely wrapped gift. As Freddie thanked them, signed autographs and posed for photographs, I was told that this particular group of Queen fans were so dedicated they followed the band everywhere they went around the world.

One of the first ports of call on the shopping trip was a very modern fashion designer called Jun, whose trendy clothes Freddie adored. From there we moved to a shop called Beverly Hills, where Freddie fell in love with a suit. It was a cross between tan and grey in colour and had a shiny finish, an effect Freddie loved. The trouble was, the suit was too big for him. Then Freddie looked around and found another suit he liked which did fit. So he turned to me and said, ‘Why don’t you try the other suit on? ’ I did, and it fitted perfectly. But I said I didn’t want it and gave it back to the assistant.

We ran around buying shirts at Beverly Hills, then went to other boutiques nearby. In one Freddie spent more than two hours buying silk ties, including a number of white ones, most costing £ 75 or more. He picked out and bought several ties for me, even though I’d already bought some.

Until that day I don’t think Freddie had ever owned a tie in his life. But he quickly made up for lost time in that shop, because he must have bought over a hundred. The silliest thing about the tie-shopping experience was that Freddie couldn’t actually knot a tie. He was a magpie and loved buying things to hoard, knowing perfectly well that he’d be lucky to get around to wearing everything even once. Whenever he wanted to wear one he usually came looking for me. ‘Jim! ’ he’d call out hopelessly, ‘Help me, will you? ’ When it came to settling his bill he actually ran out of cash, having set out with wads of the stuff. Joe and I emptied our wallets and pooled what we had to make up the shortfall. If we hadn’t come up with enough to bail Freddie out, he would simply have reserved all the ties and sent one of us over to pay for them later.

We went to the Ginza, an area of Tokyo similar to London’s Soho and packed with electronic gadgetry shops. Freddie was not very good with electronic gadgets but marvelled at hi-tech wizardry. He spent another fortune on several personal organisers, and when we got outside he gave me one of them.

Back at the hotel we could barely get into the hallway. All the things Freddie had bought at Seibu had been delivered. The boxes were stacked high on either side and represented Freddie’s £ 250, 000 shopping spree.

It became clear that, large as the Emperor Suite was, it would be impractical to have all Freddie’s shopping sent to the hotel. So from then on everything was sent directly to the warehouse for shipping home. It became Joe’s job painstakingly to list all Freddie’s purchases.

That evening Freddie, Joe and I went out to dinner with Misa and a friend to an elegant rooftop restaurant. Freddie wanted to wear a new shirt, but it was badly creased. I’m not sure why we didn’t think to send down for an iron, but instead Joe tried to think of alternative ways to remove the creases.

I came up with the answer: a metal hot-plate which was keeping some snacks warm in our sitting room. I turned it upside down and, with a bit of fumbling, Joe and I managed to iron the shirt.

‘Clever bitch, aren’t you? ’ said Freddie.

‘I have my uses! ’ I replied.

We each donned suits for the occasion, Freddie wearing the one he’d bought at Beverly Hills. It was the first time I’d ever seen him in a suit and tie, and I have to say he looked great.

Preferring to stick to Western food, Freddie, Joe and I tore into succulent steaks which in Japan cost an arm and a leg. After dinner we set out to visit a few gay clubs, including one which was a transvestite bar. As soon as we approached, the doorman recognised Misa and greeted her excitedly as ‘Mama Misa’. We sat down at a table and enjoyed the non-stop drag cabaret.

At one point a girl approached Freddie and was told to move along, so she came and sat next to me instead, chatting away in clipped pidgin English. A second hostess arrived, there to encourage the customers to enjoy themselves and drink a lot. ‘Go easy on the drinks, ’ Freddie whispered. ‘They’ll try to make you buy more. ’ Later, as we got up to leave, Freddie said: ‘Did you know that those girls with us were both blokes? ’ I was speechless; I had had no idea.

In our first week in Tokyo Misa threw a birthday party for herself at her home. The three of us arrived, this time in dinner suits. Although Freddie drew the line at wearing a black tie, he looked sensational in a light blue silk waistcoat. On the way over we’d wondered whether, according to Japanese custom, we’d have to remove our shoes on entering her home. But while Misa was terribly Japanese, much of her house had a very Western feel to it. Our footwear remained firmly on our feet.

When it was time for the birthday cake, two arrived, the first decorated in plain white icing, for Misa, the other with a red, white and blue Union Jack on it, for Freddie.

‘As I missed your birthday party, ’ she told Freddie, ‘I thought I’d have this party for you as well. ’

That night Freddie became deeply engrossed in conversation with a Japanese artist and talked about commissioning a painting from him. Freddie explained how he wanted the picture to look, even suggesting with his hand flourishes of the brushstrokes.

On another night Misa arranged a surprise outing. We only knew were going to see a show, not a special event, so the three of us dressed in lounge suits and left by car. The journey was madness. We trickled along at a snail’s pace because of the traffic, and what would have taken little more than ten minutes by foot took forever by car. We turned up a good half-hour late. What Misa hadn’t told Freddie – and as it caught him totally off guard he was not pleased – was that he was guest of honour at the glittering opening night of Andrew Lloyd Webber’s musical Cats. Everything had been held up just for him.

Misa rushed the three of us into the hospitality room, where Freddie was introduced to the other VIPs. Then his arrival was announced in the vast auditorium, a massive marquee. As he and Misa were escorted to their front row seats, the entire house got to its feet to give him a standing ovation. Joe and I, meanwhile, were escorted to two seats at the back of the stalls.

Cats was staged entirely in Japanese and had been reworked from the original London production. Although I did not know a word of Japanese, the performance was thoroughly absorbing. As a special favour, Misa asked Freddie to call on one of the principal actors backstage after the show. He agreed on condition that he wouldn’t have to meet all the rest of the company. He was on holiday, and that seemed like too much hard work.

But after we met the star in her dressing room Freddie, to his horror, was taken to meet the entire cast. Worse still, they were in party mood. There was no means of escape without being rude, so we ended up staying several hours. Later that evening, back at the hotel, Freddie showed his anger at Misa for not warning him he would have to be the guest of honour, that it was a black-tie evening and that he would have to meet the cast.

But then Misa arranged an outing for Freddie that was so special it more than made up for the chaos of the Cats evening. He was taken to see the wonderful gardens and grounds of the Golden Palace, built by an early Emperor of Japan in the ancient city of Kyoto. We were due to make the journey by Japan’s celebrated Bullet Train and were told to meet Misa at the station mid-morning. We were met by several of Misa’s entourage, but no Misa.

The train left the platform and quickly accelerated – it got its name for a top speed of about 150mph. Freddie was convinced that Misa had missed the train.

‘It wouldn’t surprise me if she hired a helicopter and is waiting for us in Kyoto, ’ he said. Then a few minutes later she found us in our carriage.

Old Kyoto was astoundingly beautiful and filled with tiny antique shops which made it paradise for Freddie. Before we’d even got to the Golden Palace, Freddie insisted on doing some shopping. He bought an ornate hibachi, a sort of ancient portable terracotta barbecue, although it was not in the particular shade of blue Freddie wanted. And he bought four very tall antique candlesticks, lacquered in black and gold. They were four feet high and reminded me of the sort of things placed around coffins when lying in rest. Very morbid.

Although the Golden Palace was undergoing renovation work and closed to all visitors, Misa had arranged for Freddie to visit the many acres of perfectly manicured gardens. We walked around the grounds for several hours, inspecting every flower and shrub. Sadly Freddie’s favourite, the azaleas, were not in bloom. But he was fascinated by the topiary, marvelling at the intricate shaping of the trees. Another favourite of his was a koi pool, where he was mesmerised by the prize golden carp.

Freddie delighted in running around as a tourist, snapping photographs of everything in sight. But he wasn’t very practical with a camera. In fact he had no idea what he was doing and was hilarious to watch. When we got his first few rolls of film developed, the pictures were wildly out of focus. But he gradually seemed to learn from his mistakes and, after being told many times exactly what he was doing wrong, he got the hang of it. Then we couldn’t stop him taking photographs by the dozen. We left the grounds of the Golden Palace for our hotel just outside Kyoto. It was a daunting concrete monster on the Western model, vast and impersonal. But Freddie noticed that at the back of the hotel the tiered, landscaped garden was dotted with chalets, each boasting a futon and a bathroom but little else. They were traditional Japanese rooms.

‘We’re in Japan, so we must go Japanese, ’ decided Freddie, and we were given a room. First, though, Freddie decided to have afternoon tea. Just as I found somewhere to sit, he stopped me and motioned that we should move on. ‘No, ’ he said. ‘We’re not going to sit there, we’re going around the corner. ’

I could hear the sound of lapping water, and when we turned the corner we found a stream running through the hotel, filled with koi. Even more surprising, behind thick plate-glass windows was a waterfall cascading into a pool. So against this backdrop we sat and had our tea. Freddie was buzzing with admiration for the hotel’s wacky creativity and delighted in pointing it all out to me.

After tea we were shown through the garden to our traditional Japanese chalet. It was the furthest from the hotel, tucked right into the corner of the grounds. Inside there was one room with a futon and a small bathroom. In the latter there was nothing more sophisticated than a wooden tub, which we decided to try out at once. We undressed and I ran the bath, and when it was full I was just about to get in when Freddie squealed.

‘No, ’ he said. ‘You don’t do that, that’s not the way the Japanese do it. We’re in Japan, we’re going to have a Japanese bath. ’ Following his instructions I washed outside the tub, soaping myself and rinsing off using a little wooden cup. Only when you’re clean do you get into the tub, simply to soak. Freddie also washed and rinsed and we got in to soak together. Freddie could always stay in the bath much longer than me; he was a real water baby.

The next thing Misa had lined up for us in Kyoto was a visit to a school for geisha girls. There we learned that they are part of a deep-seated tradition in Japan; to be a geisha is a proper profession, demanding about seven years of training. Freddie was engrossed, wanting to know everything. The girls’ make-up fascinated him. He asked how the effects were created and how long the whole process took. And Freddie adored the colourful kimonos they were wearing, made of fine silks and designed with large square sleeves.

We were introduced to the teacher, or madam, a little old lady who had one tooth in her wizened head and played a one-stringed banjo, singing along as the girls danced around for our entertainment and delight. We sat cross-legged at their feet and took part in a traditional tea ceremony.

Afterwards we headed off to a fashionable nightclub where Freddie was, of course, the centre of attention. Everyone seemed to want to meet him. The one person Freddie took a shine to was a witty drag queen in ‘civvies’ introduced to us by Misa. Freddie nicknamed him HeShe, and when the bar later closed HeShe invited us back to his home for drinks. At HeShe’s everyone gossiped and giggled and had a great time, but I was so shattered by jet-lag that I stretched out on the floor and dozed off, Japanese-style, with my head on a surprisingly comfortable log.

Hours later Freddie woke me up and we set off back to our hotel and the spartan chalet. It struck me as bizarre that Freddie, with everything he had, was still excited at the prospect of sleeping on the floor simply to try the Japanese way of life. There was a certain simplicity to it all and the night’s sleep we eventually got had an earthy feel to it. Next morning, on the way over to the hotel, we called in on Joe. His chalet was just as basic as ours but fractionally bigger, which did not please Freddie.

Although Freddie wanted to try the Japanese way of life, his enthusiasm for the country didn’t quite extend to wanting to learn the language. He was never interested in speaking other languages; his attitude when abroad was ‘I speak English, that’s all I recognise. ’ Even after living in Munich for two years he hadn’t picked up more than a smattering of German, although he did pick up a lasting habit of pronouncing some of his Ws as Vs. During our trip to Japan Freddie spoke only two words of Japanese – domo and mushi, mushi. He’d say them whenever he was excited during our stay but had no idea what the words actually meant; he’d just picked them up because he liked the sound of them. Our next stop during the visit was Osaka, where we headed for a department store which Freddie hadn’t stopped talking about since we left Garden Lodge. It was built almost entirely below ground level, and even the subway passed through. They sold anything and everything but, remarkably, although we must have walked every square inch of the place, Freddie didn’t buy a single thing. There was one part of the shop Freddie wanted me to see and he led me there: a large koi pool. He was besotted with them and I could see why. They were magnificent fish.

When we got back to Tokyo that evening, again by Bullet Train, we watched the television news. Freddie fell silent. That afternoon it had been discovered that the tracks on which the Bullet Train ran were dangerous. Freddie always liked to avoid any kind of danger. If he had known about the train he’d have cancelled the visit or insisted on another form of transport.

One of Freddie’s passions was fine antique porcelain, and he’d got to hear of a man in Chiba who had a museum filled with priceless pieces. So he asked Misa if she could arrange a private visit. The museum was a good two-hour drive out of Tokyo. As we left the hotel, there was, as always, a handful of patient fans waiting in the lobby, armed with small gifts for Freddie. We chatted to them before setting off.

Freddie hated long car journeys and soon became bored. Then he spotted a McDonald’s sign. ‘I’d love a hamburger, ’ he said, so we were diverted into the drive-through for quarter-pounders with chips.

By the time we reached the museum, the fans who had seen Freddie off at the hotel were there before us. ‘How the hell did they do that? ’ Freddie asked, and went to talk to them again.

We started at the museum with a ritual tea ceremony, after which we were shown around the collection of porcelain by the owner. The museum was crammed with pottery of every colour, from tiny, delicate bowls to giant vases twice the height of a man. Even Freddie admitted that these would be too big for him to ship home. As well as porcelain, the museum contained rare works of Japanese art and prints. And there was glorious lacquered antique furniture, including an antique kimono stand, which looked like a small, delicate bedframe stood on end.

When Freddie was shown some beautiful Imari plates he tried to buy them at once, only to be reminded that nothing in the collection was for sale. Everything Freddie saw there he’d have liked to buy, so he kept asking them to sell him this or that. He was determined to keep trying, just in case they changed their minds! At the end of the visit the owner signed a catalogue for Freddie; luckily it was in English, so he could read it on the long journey back to Tokyo.

That night we went out for supper with Misa to a restaurant similar to Tokyo Joe’s, where everything was cooked at the table. When we arrived, a Japanese wedding reception was underway, and the bride and groom were posing for their photographer. Freddie looked on spellbound by the bride’s fantastic costume. She was wearing a colourful silk kimono decorated with the most elaborate embroidery.

Misa had mentioned to Freddie that some Japanese bathed in sake, the potent rice wine. He quizzed her over what was done, then, at the first opportunity, despatched Joe to buy a large bottle of cheap sake. Freddie ran a bath, poured in all the sake and the two of us jumped in. The alcohol in the sake may have had astringent qualities which were doing us good, but Freddie and I came to the conclusion that a sake bath wasn’t something to do a second time. But he did like to quip to friends from then on: ‘You go into a sake bath sober and come out drunk! ’ Freddie was always adventurous, eager to try something at least once – just as long as it wasn’t dangerous.

Freddie badly caught the shopping bug again and bought ashtrays by the score. At times what I witnessed in Freddie was panic buying. It was as if he was petrified that the shop would run out of stock before he had made enough purchases to feed his craving. Freddie could shop for England.

Then he discovered a shop in Nagoya with thousands of terracotta hibachis, in all colours, old and new, piled from floor to ceiling. Freddie was still looking for one patterned with a specific shade of old Japanese blue. The search for it had become a running gag. In every shop we entered we’d inspect the hibachis meticulously. So, as always in this shop, we scoured the shelves in earnest, systematically working our way around the store, Freddie’s beady eyes checking and discarding every hibachi in turn. At one point I was down on my hands and knees combing under the shelving for more. Flabbergasted and laughing, Misa couldn’t believe her eyes – she’d never seen such a performance. But what she didn’t understand was that Freddie was a perfectionist.

In the end we found what we were looking for. Rummaging around on my knees I found exactly the right blue overlaid with a rich yellow colour. His face lit up the second I showed it to him. ‘Is there another one? ’ he asked. I gasped. Back I went on my hands and knees looking for another, but it turned out that there was only one, and Freddie bought it.

The next shop we went to made beautiful ceramic bowls on the premises, with rich glazes in red and gold. Freddie commissioned two bowls to be made, with his name written inside in Japanese.

Then we went to see an extraordinary lacquer-work collection brought together by one of Japan’s Living Treasures, a select title given to Japan’s top living artists whose works are of such high quality that they have to be shown publicly before they may be sold. Freddie fell for many of the lacquered pieces and promptly tried to buy the place. The organisers were apoplectic with concern – the work had to be exhibited before anything could be sold, and this was only a sneak preview. They talked excitedly between themselves in Japanese and even Misa seemed a little perturbed by it all. If Freddie managed to buy these things, getting them out of the country wouldn’t be easy since works by a Living Treasure were so highly regarded. Freddie finally agreed that he would get his purchases only when they’d been on public show. But they would be shown with a sign saying, ‘With the kind permission of Mr Freddie Mercury, from his private collection’.

Within an hour Freddie had spent over half a million pounds. He bought a large reddish brown screen, with falling leaves on one side and koi the other, and three or four other pieces including a cat just three inches high, finely lacquered and polished.

Next day we went out shopping with Itami and our lady interpreter. We called into the Cartier shop and Freddie bought a lighter and two pens. As soon as we got outside, he took out one of the pens.

‘Here, this is for you, ’ he said, passing it to the interpreter, ‘as a thank you for looking after me. ’ She flashed an enormous smile. When we got back to the hotel and the two of us were alone, Freddie gave me the Cartier lighter and the second pen.

Another memorable outing was to see some Kabuki – traditional mime and dance theatre. Freddie loved this very Japanese form of theatre with spectacular costumes and highly stylised acting and stage effects.

‘That’s what I call theatre, ’ he said, back at the hotel.

Towards the end of our stay in Japan Misa went to a speciality chicken restaurant. I couldn’t make it. The night before, we’d eaten in a small restaurant, and when I got up that morning I wasn’t feeling well. It was mild food poisoning and the best thing to do was to stay in bed all day, with Freddie fussing around me like a Jewish mother. Freddie had never seen me unwell before and was reluctant to go out for supper with Misa and Joe because he didn’t want to leave me alone. They did go, though, but Freddie spent most of the time wanting to get back to see how I was.

Next morning I still felt ill. Freddie insisted that the days I was laid up wouldn’t be allowed to curtail my holiday and he arranged for us to go into extra time, booking later flights back home. ‘If you’re not well now we’re not going to spoil the trip, ’ he insisted. ‘You’re going to get your full holiday. ’

Misa arranged for a doctor to examine me and write an employer’s sick note, in Japanese. Then Joe rang the Savoy in London and explained that I was ill but I’d be back at work a week later. Freddie stayed in the suite with me for the next few days, running around like a mother hen. He would sit next to me on the bed and throw his arms around me as I lay there feeling hopeless.

When I was back on my feet again we used most of the time for some last-minute shopping. Freddie had already bought a sensational red kimono and we’d hunted in vain for a really good antique stand for it, like the one at the museum. Eventually word got back to us that someone had at last found a lacquered stand and we sped off to look at it. ‘Yes, I’ll have it, ’ Freddie said as soon as he saw it.

As a thank you present for caring for him so well, Freddie knew he wanted to give Itami a Samurai sword. He asked Itami to take us to an armoury shop where Freddie bought two swords. Once outside the shop, Freddie surprised Itami by handing over one of them to him. The other was for Terry back home. Freddie also bought a chest of drawers to ship home for Phoebe. And he had a fabulously expensive leather dress made to measure to give to Mary.

It had been a very romantic trip. Freddie didn’t need to ask if I had enjoyed it all, the happy expressions I’d worn on my face for three weeks had said it all.

Although we had reached the end of our holiday in Japan, the best part was yet to come: over the coming months Freddie’s prize purchases would arrive at Garden Lodge. Miraculously nothing went missing, although a few pieces were broken – most notably the bowls he’d commissioned with his name painted inside them.

We flew back from Tokyo via Alaska, where we had to wait for six hours. Freddie dreaded it. He guessed that the first-class lounge would be closed and that the public waiting rooms would be filled with the weary, impatient or drunk. And he was right. Then, to add a little more to his misery, our connecting flight home was diverted via Munich, where everyone was made to wait for another four hours. By the time we got to Heathrow we were on our knees with exhaustion. We were in no condition for an unpleasant surprise, but when we had cleared customs we were ambushed by a Fleet Street reporter and photographer gleefully throwing into Freddie’s face an Aids-scare story.

Under the headline ‘Queen Star Freddie in Aids Shock’, the News of the World had alleged that Freddie had been ‘secretly tested for Aids’ by a Harley Street clinic under his real name, Freddie Bulsara. The results had showed conclusively, according to a bogus spokesman for Freddie, that he did not have the ‘killer disease’. The tasteless story was a flyer – rubbish from start to finish. It even closed by claiming that Freddie and Mary were living together in Garden Lodge.

Freddie flipped. Why had no one from the Queen office in London raised the alarm and alerted him to the story?

‘Do I look like I’m dying from Aids? ’ Freddie told the reporter. He said he had no idea what anyone had been saying and was clearly annoyed at what he called ‘such rubbish’.

‘It makes me feel sick, ’ he said. ‘Now go away and leave me alone. ’

On the way back to Garden Lodge, Freddie was still angry. ‘Nice to be back home, ’ he said sarcastically. But then his face changed. There were more important matters to take care of – he was about to be reunited with our two cats, Oscar and Tiffany.

Freddie gave me a unique souvenir of Japan to go with such magical memories – a gold disc. It was the disc he received for clocking up 100, 000 sales in Japan of the Queen album A Kind of Magic.

‘And I bet you never thought you’d own a gold disc! ’ he joked when he gave it to me. He was right.

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