Over the past week, I have watched the BBC4 drama 'Burton and Taylor' twice so far. I have cried uncontrollably at the final scene on both occasions. I plan to watch it again, maybe tonight.
I adore Helena Bonham-Carter and was intrigued to see her glammed up and admitting her classic beauty for once. Dominic West is properly good in everything, obviously. However, I was not an expert on Liz and Dick. I'm still not, but now I'm learning.
In my cyclical obsessions with film stars and retro glamour pusses, Liz never really featured - through my own ignorance rather than preference. I had my Bettie Page phase, and my Louise Brooks phase; I tried and failed to channel Audrey and Marilyn; I could cry over a photograph of Natalie Wood all day long. Weirdly, I had never really explored the treasures of Taylor. I read up on her a little after she died, and my interest was, naturally, caught.
Now, late in the day, I am mildly obsessed. Since watching this dramatisation, I have been hungry for the real thing. I have been reading everything I can get my hands on, and Google-imaging for hours on end.
After I switched off the BBC I-player, I went out that night in a low-cut halterneck dress I hadn't worn for years, black and splashed with giant dark pink roses, lipstick to match, hair up.
As always, my favourite writer Emma Forrest is ten steps ahead of me and puts it better than I can. Here: http://www.telegraph.co.uk/culture/4727434/Lessons-in-Liz.html