This Much Is True

will.i.am practically fell off the red sofa when, at Graham’s prompting, I told the story of an incident during my last show in Edinburgh. I was walking home late after work one night, through the Meadows — the large open field just behind the university area — when I heard a rustling above me (I’m so short, almost everything is above me, actually). I looked up and in the tree I saw a young man in military uniform, vigorously masturbating. I watched him for a moment, just to make sure I had fully grasped the situation, and then said, ‘What on earth are you doing?’ I felt concerned for him, so I asked, ‘What is your occupation?’ I thought a few questions might take his mind off it. He replied, ‘I’m a soldier.’ I asked, ‘In the military Tattoo?’ ‘Yes,’ came the reply. I said, ‘Come down at once.’ He clambered down. I said, ‘What’s the matter with you? You can’t do that. You know you can get into trouble doing what you’re doing? You could destroy your career. What rank are you?’ I think he was a corporal. I said, ‘Now look, I will help you out with this one, but you must go home after, and remember you are a soldier. You’ll get into a lot of trouble if anyone catches you up a tree doing that again. Or indeed anywhere.’ I then gave him a helping hand, so to speak, and off he went. He was charming and, I must also say, grateful.

I’m going to add to this story something I didn’t say on TV, because I thought it might brand me as a sex maniac, which I’m not. But after the soldier had said cheerio, I was cleaning my hand when I heard someone saying, ‘Miriam, do you remember me?’ I turned around and, sitting on the bench nearby was a sweet boy I’d known in Oxford, a Nigerian called Winston. He said a bit cheekily, ‘I saw how you helped that young man; what about me?’ Well, I didn’t want to be accused of discrimination, and I liked Winston, so it turned out that night I killed two birds for the price of one. I felt good, they felt good; truly, what’s the harm? No animals were hurt in the process.

Back to Graham Norton. When one of the other guests exclaimed, ‘Jesus, Miriam!’ I simply said, ‘He was a soldier, and you’ve got to support the troops.’ Their assumption that because I care about correct language that my days of thinking and talking dirty would be far behind me, was not only erroneous, but downright offensive.

It is the absolute truth that when I go on that show, I genuinely do not know what I’m going to say. We have a telephone chat with a researcher a few days before and they ask me what I want to talk about, but I’ve no idea then and I tell them so. I prefer things to be spontaneous; I like the freedom Graham gives his guests. He is the most charming host, genuine, quick-witted and generous. All his guests feel the same — he makes it into a party. Perhaps I do go a little far; I remember the lovely Stanley Tucci saying plaintively, after one story: ‘I just want to be on a programme that airs!’ As an American actor, he’s used to much more buttoned-up chat shows where people go on to plug something, but are determined not to give too much of themselves away. He couldn’t believe the BBC would actually broadcast the words I was speaking. My appearances on all the talk shows are fraught with danger because my language is often foul. I’ve been reported to Ofcom several times. I know I swear too much and I’m constantly being reminded to keep it clean. I regret I offend — it’s a bad habit I got into very early. But saying ‘fuck’ and ‘shit’ and ‘cunt face’ isn’t as bad as racism or selling drugs. Get real!

I enjoy a chat, and if I can pop a bit of sex into it, I don’t think there’s any harm. Not a lot of gay women front up on TV, so I hope I give courage to young dykes to be proud and confident. If you tell the truth — and I always do — you shame the devil.

The Final Curtain

My grandmother Flora gave me a gold brooch shaped like a star that was almost like a talisman — an emblem of what my family thought of me. My mother always believed in me; when I was starting out, she gave me strength. She said, ‘Go forward. Don’t look at what other people are doing. Think about the road ahead. What matters is what you’re doing. You are gifted. You will go far; have faith.’ And because I believed and trusted her, I did.

One of the best moments of a performance is waiting in the wings after the curtain has descended, when you know you have given your all, remembered every line and cue and the audience has responded as you hoped, laughing at the right moments and being moved at others. There is always a hush and a caught breath as you wait for their reaction. It’s not like that with books. I don’t have a clue how the various acts and scenes of my life have gone down with you, my dear reader — I hope you’ve enjoyed reading it. I’ve enjoyed living it. But now I realise my days, like these pages, are numbered.