Standing at the bar, a handsome stranger walked over to me.
‘Can I buy you a drink?’ the darkhaired man asked.
Back in 1971, wearing a dark suit, the stranger instantly knocked me off my feet.
‘You look like a film star,’ he beamed as we chatted.
Wooing me, we shared a dance and listened to the band.
Mick was charming, handsome and wonderful.
And soon, we were an item.
He’d open doors for me, carried my bags and helped me with my coat.
He was the perfect gentleman.
Only, while I knew him back then as Mick Peterson, in just a few years he’d be known by another name.
Charles Bronson. Britain’s most notorious prisoner.
A world away from the man I knew and loved.
After meeting at 18, we went on to marry a year later and soon welcomed little Michael
