by Stanley Price (Sandycove £14.99, 208pp)When, in days gone by, and in the , I encountered Olivia de Havilland in Paris, in a vintage car museum, or Maureen Lipman up the Amazon, such sacred beasts went on to be my friends, who never seemed to mind if I was rude or indiscreet about them in print. even let me share her foot spa.A time there was when the appeal of journalism was meeting celebrities on their own. Stanley Price, who died in 2019, in his 88th year, was another old-school hack who was fortunate to be working at a time without the interventions or encumbrances of the minders and lawyers insisting upon signed-in-triplicate confidentiality agreements, which today make everyone of Z-list status and above tediously cautious and controlling.
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