When I was 12 years old, in 1969, my father decided that as Swaziland (now Eswatini) had only one cinema, one amateur theatre club and no television, I would benefit from an injection of culture in the northern hemisphere. We flew to London and the culture shock was immediate and unforgettable. Emerging from Piccadilly Circus tube station, I saw the Eros fountain crowded with hippies, strongly smelling of patchouli oil. Walking through Soho and Carnaby Street, I saw mini-skirted women with see-through blouses. Until then, the only naked adults I’d ever seen were in National Geographic magazine. We went to the Shaftesbury theatre to see the musical Hair, which featured the entire cast standing stark bollock naked for a few seconds, just before the interval. In other words, I got to see Elaine Paige’s front bum. (We’ve since become friends and I can officially say that I’ve never seen it since.) Then it was off to see Ginger Rogers in Mame at the Theatre Royal on Drury Lane, which featured a 15-year-old Gary Warren playing her nephew, a year before he starred in The Railway Children. He convinced me that it was possible to become a child actor. This was confirmed the following day on seeing Mark Lester and Jack Wild in the film version of Oliver! at the Odeon Leicester Square. It was all topped off by watching Adrian Hall and Heather Ripley on screen as the Potts siblings in Chitty Chitty Bang Bang. My father insisted that we go to the Palladium no matter who was performing as, according to him, it was the landmark theatre in London. Which is how we got to see the legendary Max Bygraves. I’d never heard of him, but his easygoing charm and rapport with the audience was extraordinary. He did impressions, jokes and sang his signature hit Tulips from Amsterdam, with the entire audience singing along to the chorus. The foyer had photos of all the legendary singers who had performed there, including Judy Garland and Frank Sinatra. My fiercely held secret dream of becoming an actor was fired up by seeing all these shows and films. However, I never once considered I would find myself on the Palladium stage. So when producer Alex Fane suggested booking the theatre this year for my one-man show, A Pocketful of Happiness, based on my memoir, I was flabbergasted. He calmly countered my panic-stricken “But it’s over 2,000 seats, Alex. I’ll never be able to fill it,” with a panto chorus of “Oh, but you will!” His faith prevailed and the performance on Sunday 30 October was jam-packed. The acoustics were perfect and despite being on three levels and seating so many people, it felt intimate. Despite the profound grief I’ve felt since my wife died last year, performing my tribute to her and celebrating our lives together in this iconic venue felt truly extraordinary. It’s one thing to dream of becoming an actor having grown up in one of the smallest countries in the southern hemisphere, but another thing entirely to have that fantasy become a reality, complete with standing ovation. Pocketfuls of happiness, beyond measure. Richard E Grant is an actor. His memoir, A Pocketful of Happiness, is out now