I wasn’t an obvious example of the Swinging Sixties, flower power and free love, because I had responsibilities. I had a flat at 44 Old Gloucester Street in Bloomsbury. I wasn’t living in a commune or squatting.

I’d been living in bedsits while I was at the Webber Douglas drama school in London between 1966 to 1968 and moved there in 1969, when I was 22. The thrill of having my first two rooms, kitchen and bathroom was immense.

I heard about it from an actor friend who had a flat in the house and he introduced me to a wonderful old estate agent called Mr Record. The rent was £10 a week. There is a blue plaque on the house because Bishop Challoner lived there. I was intrigued by this revered man and now I’d like to research what the street was like in his time.

It was such a treat to open the front door and go into this rickety house up a wooden staircase into my flat on the second floor. There was an Italian lady on the ground floor so there were always wonderful smells of pasta and garlic.

It certainly wasn’t glamorous — there was no central heating. The windows were crooked and the view at the back was of rooftops and opposite was a church school. It was supposed to be furnished but it was basic: an old cooker, a bed and not much else. An empty and rather secret place. The old floorboards were covered with a ghastly faded red carpet. The walls were white, which was a great blessing, so I could put my pictures up. I had one or two paintings of Grasmere in the Lake District where my mother had been evacuated in the war.

I didn’t have much money so my furniture was bought on the cheap. I found a small pine washstand that had a Bakelite telephone on top. I bought a linen chest from an antiques shop in Holland Park, which I’ve still got. My first record player came from Boots around the corner. I was so square, I mainly played classical records, but occasionally the Beatles and Bob Dylan.

Bloomsbury wasn’t over-grand like Belgravia, but it was elegant. Holborn Tube was five minutes away. I used to go to Lamb’s Conduit Street for bits of shopping. I could walk to my agent’s office, then in Oxford Street, and to most interviews.

I’ve always had a fascination with the East End because I was brought up there with my mother from the age of 11. She lived in Stepney off the Commercial Road so it was an easy bus distance and I used to walk to Shoreditch and Shadwell.

There was an incredible antiquarian shop in Barter Street, near the flat, run by an eccentric bookseller called Andrew Block, who wore an old overall. It was like walking into something out of Dickens. He had books and prints on every subject that you could ever dream of. I was keen on theatre memorabilia and started off buying posters of old productions and Pollock prints. I put some of the posters up but couldn’t afford to frame the prints.

I went to the first Biba shop off Kensington High Street and got all my clothes there. I wore appalling minis up to my knicker line and had long straight hair and a lot of black eyeliner. I moved with the times. I had an Ossie Clark black dress and have still got Chelsea Cobbler boots from that period.

After drama school I got a job straight away in Sweden touring with The Importance of Being Earnest. I was in a Jean-Luc Godard film called One Plus One, which was such a thrill. We did it in a Battersea heliport and it was very symbolic. We wore white nighties and had to lie on the ground, which was covered in cinders and oil. I’ll never forget it.

Then I went into rep at The Marlowe Theatre, Canterbury and Liverpool Playhouse. While I was living in the flat I did Sense and Sensibility and War and Peace for the BBC. I was paid about £45 an episode.

My career was just getting going. I was pleased that I could pay the rent but worried endlessly about work. You always thought the job you had was the last you were going to get. It was like that then — and it still is now.

Twelve years ago, I had a brain operation at the National Hospital for Neurology and Neurosurgery in Queen Square, which is near to my old flat. I had a fantastic surgeon who rectified a strange condition called Arnold-Chiari malformation I. The spinal fluid was getting blocked and had to be decompressed. It was rather a comfort to be near my old home and remember my abandoned youth.

After a couple of years the estate agent offered me an unfurnished flat to rent in Walton Street in South Kensington. I was a reliable tenant and never got behind with the rent.

But I didn’t move to Walton Street because I went to live with the person I fell in love with — Edward Fox. We met in The Rivals at Chichester and I moved west to Little Venice, where I’ve been ever since.

I’ve taken my son, Freddie, to look at Bishop Challoner’s house. He thought it was a terrific place with great character. I think it’s important your children know where you’ve lived. If I had the money, I’d jolly well buy a flat in that road now.

Gaudy Night, an audio book dramatisation of the Dorothy L Sayers novel starring Joanna David, is available on 0800 136 919 or via www.bbcshop.com, from £9.99. Interview by Louise Johncox

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