On a cold London day, in that strange interval between the Queen’s funeral and King’s coronation, I attended Westminster Abbey for evensong. Seated behind the choristers in their white surplices and stiff ruffs, I looked up from the order of service to the choir stalls opposite. There sat an old man with silver hair worn longish, Beatle-ish, with a bright orange scarf draped, rather like a stole, around his shoulders. Oh, I thought, is that Tom Courtenay?
It was. The actor was: ‘What will survive of us is love.’
