It’s the question everyone keeps asking me.
Why, at the age of 79 — after four marriages, four divorces, and more romantic chaos than I care to count — did I decide to get married again?
Was I mad?
No. Not this time.
What surprises most people is that I didn’t tell anyone. Last month, Peter and I quietly married at a register office in Great Yarmouth, Norfolk. No fuss. No spectacle. Just two neighbours as witnesses — and that was exactly how we wanted it.
We’d talked about it for years, of course. I’d always assumed another wedding would be embarrassing. Walking down the aisle again felt faintly ridiculous. But slowly, the idea stopped feeling absurd and started feeling… right.
I knew it would make Peter happy. And after more than 25 years together, it felt natural — not impulsive, not dramatic, not reckless.
Still, the day before the ceremony, I unravelled.
My last marriage had been such a monumental mistake that I was terrified of repeating history. I didn’t want to do anything I’d regret — and I certainly didn’t want to disrespect Peter by treating it lightly. He has never been married before. I wanted this to be meaningful for him.
Unlike my previous weddings, this one came after decades together — not at the beginning of some romantic fantasy. And while most of my former husbands and partners had their qualities, this relationship is different.
This one will last.
Peter and I met in 1998 and moved in together a year later. Over the years we’ve had rows, separations, and periods apart — but we always found our way back to each other.
We are utterly different people.
Peter is a Cockney, raised by working-class parents with strong values. He’s intensely private and deeply uncomfortable with attention. I, on the other hand, have spent my life in the public eye. It suits me. It does not suit him.
He prefers our remote house in Norfolk, long walks on the marshes, and the company of Badger — our slightly overweight Border Terrier. Marsh harriers, bitterns and geese are his neighbours now, a far cry from his previous life running a busy restaurant and bar in Clerkenwell before walking away from it all in 2006.
I still divide my time between Norfolk and London, appearing on Loose Women and touring my one-woman show. Retirement has never appealed.
Peter, a former teacher and trained counsellor, continues to help others cope with life’s challenges. He cared for his mother as she died. He has lifelong friendships that endure decades — something I have never found easy.
My turbulent relationship history likely stems from my mother.
She was married when she met my father. They had an affair. She wasn’t divorced until well after my sister was born. My parents eventually married in the 1950s — secretly. The shame of it haunted my mother for life.
My own romantic chaos began early.
At barely 18, I became engaged to my first serious boyfriend, Rex — despite already cheating on him. I saw him as my escape route from home. Brutal, but honest.
Then I met Tim Street-Porter — tall, handsome, magnetic. Within 24 hours I’d called off the wedding. Within a month I’d left home with nothing but a handbag.
Tim and I married in 1967. We were too young. I cheated. I regret that deeply. But the marriage ended.
Next came Tony Elliott — brilliant, driven, too similar to me. We married after two years. The very next morning, I knew it was a mistake.
Then Frank Cvitanovich — 19 years older, charismatic, Canadian, accomplished. I truly believed that marriage would be different. It wasn’t. Grief, distance, and affairs pulled us apart.
Finally, the worst mistake of all: a Las Vegas wedding at 3.30am to a man I still cannot name. I knew within days I’d ruined my life. The divorce was terrifying. I am still frightened of him.
That marriage destroyed my trust.
Then, in 1998, I met Peter.
With him, something changed. I didn’t cheat. I didn’t feel restless. I didn’t need drama. Trust replaced obsession.
Love, I finally learned, isn’t about sex or validation. It’s about safety. Comfort. Peace.
Why did it take me until my 60s and 70s to work that out?
I don’t know.
But by learning tolerance, forgiveness, and letting go of my ego, I have finally found peace — with husband number five.
Our wedding was private. Quiet. Afterwards, we had lunch in a pub with six friends.
And Badger? The dog I once refused to live with?
He’s now my constant companion. We sing together. I adore him.
There’s no doubt about it.
I saved the best until last.
