I went to lunch with my agent in a restaurant. There was a phone call during lunch from the chairman of the television company, who said, “Will you come for tea?” I said, “Yes.” I asked my agent for a valium, went to walk the dog on Hampstead Heath, and then went down to have tea with the chairman of Grenada, who was very cross, said he felt let down. I said, “I feel let down. We’re both in the same boat.” He said, “If I can work something out, will you go back to work?” I said, “Certainly. I’ll be back there tomorrow morning.” He left the room for about 15 minutes, came back in and said, “I’ll work this out in three weeks. Give me three weeks.” So I went back to work. Three weeks later they tied the two things together, the film and the television, so that the film paid for the downtime in the television, and the television invested in the film, and I was able to do both. But on the journey down, the night before when I had driven down in my Volkswagen Beetle, a long drive on the M6, about a four-hour drive, I remember thinking “That’s it. That is it. Now if I’m not going to act, what am I going to do? I could be an agent. Should I write? Well, can I write? I don’t know.” But I knew that was it. And I knew that I had taken my destiny in my hand in a way that I had never felt before and I think that’s when I grew up. I knew I was my own man. I could do anything.