The Writings of Ingrid Pitt

A Collection of Writings





Battle of Britain










Motor Racing



Pitt of Horror


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Winston Churchill

World War 2

Ingrid's Obituary

Ingrid Says... Pitt of Horror Website Message

January 2001
Ingrid Pitt

When I was a gel and sausages were a penny a pound and made from the finest sirloin steak and were fried in your own home by a French chef, I would have been considered a hi-tech marvel if I could have switched an electric light on without blowing a fuse. Any toy that lasted over Christmas had to be made of solid wood - and even then it would be lucky not to end up on the Yuletide fire.

What I'm getting at, what I am always getting at, is my total lack of expertise with anything more complicated than painting my nails. So what am I doing agreeing to host a Chat Room on the internet? Ego - pure and simple. I fumbled through one in late December when I was invited to do my stuff for the Hammer Films Society. ( I didn't think I would make it. Not least because whatever I did to log on I was left standing outside, pounding on the door to be let in.

A dozen frantic e-mails later, a change of venue and I was in. I was only supposed to be there for an hour, but an hour and a half later it was still going strong and I had to call a halt. I had spent the day at a Chris Williams convention down in Brighton, and in my advanced state of Granny-hood, I can't make it past the midnight hour - not without the aid of my broom stick at the very least.

Jakob Soederbaum of the Where Eagles Dare Society ( is looking into the possibility of an Eagles chat room in February and Lee Sargeant of The Hammer films Soc has also promised to set up another.

Went to Holland for a horror fest run by dandy Kees Blokker of Heerlen. It was wonderful. Kees is a charming host and had everything lined up to perfection. Well, maybe not everything. There was a fancy dress do in a pub called Sally O'Briens, all ersatz Dutch/Oirishmen and swilling Guinness. And cigarette smoke. I'm that breed apart that goes bananas if someone likes a fag in the next county. An ex-smoker! My revulsion was matched by ace stunt woman Dorothy Ford. She goes berserk if she sees a dog-end in her field. So I threw a minor wobbly and sat outside the pub in a little square.

When the time came for prize giving, I made a big production of holding my nose, rushing into the polluted atmosphere, chucking the prizes at the winner and rushing out again. I felt dreadful afterwards. Everyone had made so much effort and then this deranged old biddy has to go and ruin everything. Kees was sweet. He didn't once mention my lack of grace.

The real problem came at the airport on the way home. The head of security threatened to bung me in jail for carrying an offensive weapon. A friend of mine had inherited an old sea chest from an ancient Uncle. Among the stuff in it was this rather graceful 'sap'.

It's a spring-gripped truncheon, tastefully covered in plaited suede and without which no seaman worth his bell-bottoms would be seen in a Hong Kong brothel. It's called a 'sap' because a tap on the head with this little beauty saps your energy. I stuck it in my hand bag intending to deposit it with the appropriate authorities (honest guv) and promptly forgot about it. It showed up on the airport security monitor and I suddenly became a candidate for the Leila Khaled award. They gave me the alternative of hanging onto my protector and spending more time in Holland, but in less convivial company or giving it up and catching the plane. I took the plane.

I met one Spyder Curphey of Compulsion Gallery at the NEC in November. He bowled me over by giving me a beautiful 1/18th scale pewter model of my all time hero Juan Manuel Fangio driving a Mercedes Benz W196. He has also promised to make a statuette of me in my favourite position, reclining in a bath tub. He expects to preview it at the NEC in February. I can't wait. I hope to be there. And at Henry Cook's Memorabilia bash in March.

Sales of my new book, MURDER, TORTURE & DEPRAVITY have been terrific. It helped that the Daily Telegraph refused to review it because it was too horrible. I'm assuming that they meant the content and not the execution. Reviews have all been wonderful so far and I haven't really had a launch yet. That will be in Waterstones in London's Oxford Street 19th January.

But you can get a signed and dedicated copy by sending £18 directly to me at Pitt of Horror, PO Box 403, Richmond, Surrey, TW10 6FW, UK. (Price per copy for delivery outside the UK to Europe is £20 and to the rest of the world is £23.50). You can also order right now in the Pitt of Horror web store.

My next oeuvre will be VAMPYRES, to be published by Constable/Robinson in June. Should be great! It's a Mammoth Book and I will be in distinguished company. Other authors will be Ann Rice, Chelsea Quinn Yabro and many others of that ilk. Need I say more?

Paid a visit to the premises of S & P Parker's Movie Market in Sherborne. They specialise in celebrity photographs, film posters and front of house cards. I don't know what I expected but it wasn't the slick operation that I found there. I had this mental picture of S & P sitting in a back room on the moors stuffing faded photos into recycled envelopes. Nothing could be farther from the actualité. They must have photographs of just about everybody who has ever primped and posed in front of a camera. I you want to know more read my column in Shivers. Or you can log on direct at

Have a great New Year and I hope to see you sometime.

Luv Ingrid

The Writings of Ingrid Pitt