A New York Times Notable Book from an Oscar award-winning icon.   These journal entries are comprised of Sir Alec Guinness’s observations on Britain during the tumultuous times of Princess Diana’s death and the election of Tony Blair, and comments on his quintessentially English country life with his wife. Written from the summer of 1996 through 1998, A Positively Final Appearance is a follow-up to the best-selling My Name Escapes Me . Guinness offers frank (and surprising) reflections on the effects of appearing in the Star Wars films, and both hilarious and poignant memories of such well-known performers as Humphrey Bogart and Noel Coward. This delightful, humorous journal is a wonderful legacy from a beloved actor.   “Sly, witty, elegant . . . buoyant, vivid, and brave.”— The New York Times Book Review   “Simply, deliciously funny.”— The Washington Post   “Reading Guinness is like finally sitting down and soaking in the wisdom of the grandparent you never seem to have time for. And we may never see the likes of him again.”— Chicago Sun-Times Sir Alec Guinness was born in London in 1914 and began his professional acting career in 1933. His many films include Oliver Twist, Kind Hearts and Coronets, The Bridge on the River Kwai (for which he won an Oscar ), Lawrence of Arabia, Doctor Zhivago , and Star Wars . He was knighted in 1959 and made a Companion of Honour in 1994. A Positively Final Appearance A Journal 1996-98 By Alec Guinness Penguin Books Copyright © 2001 Alec Guinness All right reserved. ISBN: 0140299645 Chapter One Men as Trees, Walking The view from the small, spotless white room on the twelfthfloor of the hospital was almost Wordsworthian: the Houses ofParliament glowing in summer afternoon sunlight, the mudcolouredThames slowly eddying as the tide turned and a string ofbarges chugging towards Westminster Bridge. The river probablywasn't as brown as it looked; the outside of the hospital windowwas filthy. I wondered if it would all look clearer to me in twodays' time or possibly dimmer; clever people were to operate onmy left eye, which had been almost useless for ten years andvirtually blind for the past twelve months. A voice behind me said, `I'm your sister.' I turned roundrather sharply to be confronted by a stalwart young man flutteringsheets of paper. `Would you please fill in these forms?' he said.`And accounts would like a cheque. Oh, and the TV isn'tworking.' He disappeared and I studied the small print. The forms, as far as I could make out, required my agreementto exonerate the hospital, staff, doctors and surgeons from allculpability should there be any mishap. In short, the operationwas all my fault and no questions asked. Well, I had to sign; andthen I wrote a surprisingly large cheque, unpacked my smallsuitcase and settled myself, as best I could, on a slippery chair bythe window with the latest Patrick O'Brian novel unopened onmy lap. The sister-chap reappeared to say they would like to dosome tests on me on the ground floor and a thousand miles away. Having successfully bypassed a starch-faced nurse who wassuspicious of me wandering around in her area, I eventuallyfound the team who were to operate on me the next day. Theywere housed in a vast ill-lit cavern but exuded confidenceand charm. One of them ran a sort of magic pencil over myeyelid while the others discussed with enthusiasm the swirlingpictures they saw on their little TV screen. I had the impressionthey were keen to take out my eye and give it a goodscrub. One of them said, `We will now tell you what we intenddoing.' `I would rather not know,' I said. `But you have to know,' he went on, `it's the law.' More signing, I thought. `You fire ahead,' I told him, `andI'll stop my ears.' And I signed something which said I thoroughlyunderstood what they were going to do. To this day I don'tknow what they got up to. A very attractive, sophisticated, Argentinian lady with dazzlingfair hair and a shimmering smile introduced herself as the anaesthetist.She asked me in a whisper if all my teeth were my own.I assured her they were and she gave a nod of relief and approval.We encountered each other again the following morning whenI was wheeled into the presence of the team, who were now alldressed as for a TV medical soap opera. `Is the Princess of Waleshere?' I asked facetiously. They smiled politely behind theirgauze masks. The Argentinian lady took my hand. `Just a littleprick,' she said. `And now another little prick. Now I think weare feeling sleepy, yes?' An hour and a half later I sort of woke up in the recoveryroom. `All is over, all has been well done,' said Argentina. I tried tosay `Good!' or `Amen' but the words stuck in my throat, whichwas fiery and raw. Wherefore could I not say `Amen'? `Youhave small passage,' Argentina explained rather severely. It crossedmy mind that she might have taken revenge for the sinking ofthe Belgrano in the Falklands war;