John Gibson: Jackie’s not for marrying again . . ever

Jackie Collins and friend
Jackie Collins and friend
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We live in a warped world, not quite as wonderful as Louis Armstrong would have us believe. We’ve got a woman grabbing a headline with ‘‘some days I feel as unloved as a pair of old knickers’’, Dame Joan Bakewell saying she was groped by Sir So-and-So while interviewing him live on air, and Brian Wilson banished by his fellow Beach Boys.

My consuming interest today, regardless, is the delectable Jackie Collins. A lot of water, and a bundle of her books (say 500 million, mainly bonkbusters) under the bridge since then but a forage into the Gibpress Files, an occasional series, is refreshing my recollection of my dalliance with Jackie.

She was so much younger when we first met. Us both. Today at 77, twice-married Jackie could effortlessly pass for 50. She’s talking in the Beverly Hills Hotel, confirming that she and Mrs Gibson – sister Joan, married to Percy Gibson – are best of chums.

No way would Jackie ever marry again. “I can’t imagine anything worse. Why would you want to marry someone when you’ve got the freedom to see anyone you want?”

True, Jackie. Anyway, I no longer have the suit for another wedding reception.

Shock in store

I am what you, in a mad moment, could call a bright spark. And that’s without resorting to electric underwear. Soon to be all the rage, “Smart-e-Pants” for the bed-bound prone to bed sores.

These smarties have pockets for electronic pads. A matter of time before they’re selling in the superstores’ electrical departments. Don’t forget the 15-amp fuse in the event of a shock to the system.