What's It All About?

What's It All About?

Language: English

Pages: 320

ISBN: 0091890357

Format: PDF / Kindle (mobi) / ePub


In her own words, this is Cilla Black’s story from her days in the Mersey scene, managed by Brian Epstein, and having hit after hit in the pop charts, to being one of Britain’s most treasured music and TV personalities today.

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day and on the TV almost every night. I was dead chuffed to be reaching an audience that was the age I’d been when I started out – it really knocked me out that young people could relate to me. The thing, though, about being everyone’s ‘Cilla’ is that everyone thought they knew me – that I really was their girl next door. I was only too aware that when Bassey swept out of a theatre or into a room, everybody went all funny and almost swooned. But when they saw me, they put an arm around my

consultant told me this in his consulting room, Robert was with me and, as I glanced at him, I could see that he was about to burst into tears. I gave him the kind of look that Bobby would have given me, as if to say, ‘Do not make a show of me. Let’s keep this all together.’ That’s a very Liverpool expression. My next reaction was to be annoyed with Bobby, because I realised that he already knew and hadn’t told me himself. I couldn’t believe it at first, but then I understood that he was putting

in the morning. There were several different rooms, all with loud ‘banging’ house music, full of thousands of men (and their female friends) all dancing and cavorting through to the early hours of the morning. It was hot and packed and sweaty – I’d never seen anything like it in all my life. I loved it! I hadn’t done anything like this since my teenage years when I used to go to the Cavern, but when I go out with Savage, it’s a case of ‘fasten your seat belts, it’s going to be a long night’. I

speed and I knew I couldn’t keep my grip for much longer. I panicked, and decided to leap off before I was bounced off. Having succeeded in hitting the road without slipping sideways and going under the lorry’s huge wheels, I rolled over and over down the street. By the time I finished rolling and came to a stop in a crumpled heap, there was no breath left in my body, my hands and knees were lacerated and the rest of me was black and blue. Stunned, I checked to make sure there was no other

and they’re always so warm and so generous with their praise. But that day’s batch must have wondered why I kept looking over my shoulder and to my left and right before hurriedly signing their autograph books at arm’s length. I couldn’t wait to get through the stage door and into the temporary safety of my dressing room. Nothing untoward happened before the curtain went up but, once I was on stage, I soon realised that my co-stars, Alfred Marks, Terry Scott, Leslie Crowther and Basil Brush,

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