secrets

FOR eight years, Sara Cox was forever the bridesmaid, never the bride.

At long last, then, on a bright, sunny Monday morning in July, the broadcaster got her big day, becoming the long-overdue host of Radio 2’s Breakfast Show.

The first two tracks played?

Lizzo’s About Damn Time and CeCe Peniston’s Finally.

Which tells you all you need to know about this brilliantly witty DJ: She says it as she sees it, and has fun along the way.

“Was it deliberate?”, she says, smiling. “Of course — I was being cheeky.

“On the day itself though, I actually felt fine, not that nervous. It was a job I’ve wanted for so long that it just felt like . . . finally.

“And when I thought about About Damn Time, it did make me smile.

“I thought, ‘Start as you mean to go on’. I just wanted to be me, which essentially is a little bit cheeky.

“Luckily, the reaction’s been great. We have the best listeners in the world and I have the best job in the world. I’ve got an incredible team, a brilliant bunch of people like me who are massive radio geeks, and I love it.”

While some may have crumpled under the pressure of hosting the ­biggest gig on the airwaves, the unflappable former model has taken it all in her leggy stride.

An instant hit with listeners — she was also a long-time favourite with devotees of her former gig, the Drivetime show — Sara has introduced new games and inter­active formats to keep things fresh.

Lucky listeners can win a pair of branded “Sara Sox” socks (clean) should they triumph in games such as Let’s Hear It For The Noise, a fiendishly difficult memory challenge.

(Behind the scenes, she is incredibly hands-on, WhatsApping her team with ideas around the clock, I’m told.)

Having been relentlessly badgering Sara’s team for an interview, today, then, is my Big Day. Finally.

Invited to spend a morning in the life of the Bolton-born 51-year-old, things kick off, rather unpleasantly, with a 4.50am alarm call.

Entering the BBC’s flagship London building in the dark, I am tired and grumpy. Sara is not.

In the studio, she dances to tracks, chats to her listeners before and after they call (apparently, many DJs don’t bother with such niceties), and cheerfully munches on an avocado wrap she brought in from home.

The super-fit mum of three — who last year smashed a gruelling 135- mile run across five consecutive days, raising £11.7million for Children In Need — also stands up for the entirety of her three-hour show.

I am exhausted just watching her.

I used to sit down doing the radio but not any more,” she says.

“I like to move around. But it’s also for the leg region. the late (TV health expert) Michael Mosley did a podcast on inflammation — if you sit down for too long, your cells start making the inflammation. So, sadly, it’s not for a rock ’n’ roll reason.”

On the subject of rock ’n’ roll, to a legion of geriatric millennials like me, and Gen Xers, Sara came to the fore as a “ladette”.

Former Breakfast show host Zoe Ball, Sara — back then on Radio 1 — Denise van Outen, Meg Mathews, Sadie Frost, et al, were entrenched in pop culture of the Nineties.

With a motto of “work hard, play hard”, Sara and her pals were endlessly papped hanging out at celebrity hotspots such as London’s Met Bar.

Yet those days are long gone — so much so, the charismatic star is now teetotal. Plus, constant cameras — filmed clips of the show are put out on the station’s official Instagram page — mean it would be nigh-on impossible to hide a hangover.

She says with a laugh: “I mean, you saw the Radio 1 pap shots of me leaving the building — I literally look like I’d slept in a skip. It was great.

“But yeah, it’s all visualised now, and I get it, we are evolving. I can get away with putting my make-up on during a record. A bit of mazzie (mascara) and I’m good to go.

“Today, though, I don’t drink. I’ve not drank since February after my last pina colada in half-term.

“I do feel better for it. To be fair, I was drinking so little, maybe one unit a week, that when I did drink, it was making me feel dizzy and weird.

“Plus, my husband Ben hasn’t drunk for four or five years so that makes it easier/wears you down.

“I mean, you feel a complete lush having half a glass of malbec of an evening otherwise.”

She has been married to marketing executive Ben Cyzer, who she met at Glastonbury Festival, since 2013. They are blissfully happy. Presumably, though, Ben was less thrilled with his wife’s career reawakening and the unsociable hours?

Sharing her new routine, she says: “I am in bed by 9pm. When I started the job, I was setting my alarm at five, but then I was really rushing about and I thought, ‘No, Sara, make it a tiny bit earlier’. So, at 4.50am off goes the first one.

“Then Alexa is on stand-by at 4.55, and if things have gone really wrong, 5.05am and 5.06am are also set on my phone.

“And my husband, bless him, checks the doorbell sometimes to make sure I’ve actually gone.

“I am a light sleeper, so a lot of the time I take myself off to the spare room, because I’m getting up so early and need to sleep well.

“And also because he doesn’t want to go to bed at 9.15pm, because he’s an adult male. He’s a normal person.

“Then Friday and Saturday, it feels like quite a treat and it’s quite nice to be back together.”

After feeding the couple’s three cats, Watson, Peggy and Miso, she takes a home-made breakfast to eat in the studio and glugs a coffee in the car on the way in. (“I eat very quickly, like a seabird”).

Her first-day guest was Hollywood’s Tom Hanks — and on the day I visit, Canadian comedian Katherine Ryan joins her.

So who would her dream guests be? “Daniel Craig — we’ve just had M, Dame Judi Dench, so we should have Bond too. Tom Cruise would be wild — we’ve had The Hanks, and I’d love to work towards completing the Hollywood set.”

“Also on the list is Beyonce — “I interviewed her when I was pregnant with my son and he’s 18 now, so we’re well overdue a catch-up.” And Madonna — “I interviewed her at Radio 1 and offered her my spare room ’cos she was house-hunt­ing in the UK . . . The offer’s still on.”

Sara got the Breakfast Show gig at a challenging time for the BBC.

Previous host Scott Mills was fired over a historical allegation of a sexual offence.

It has since emerged the axed DJ has enlisted lawyers and is planning to sue the corporation.

Not surprisingly, questions about him are off the table. And 72 hours after my visit, a story comes out in the Press, with insiders claiming to have felt “uncomfortable” due to her habit of calling mistakes out on air.

Well, having chatted to four of her team, including her producer, and seen Sara mucking about with colleagues, I can testify it appears to be a very happy ship indeed.

A perfectionist she may be, but a tyrant she ain’t.

And listener figures for the show in the last few years have stayed solid at around 6.37million weekly.

Elsewhere, though, it is a challenging time generally for legacy media, as audiences consume their content largely online, on streaming services and platforms like YouTube and TikTok.

So does Sara, who has written four Sunday Times best- selling novels, think radio will still be around in a decade? Yes.

“I think it’ll always be there be­cause people will always want that connection and that friendship that they have with their DJ,” she says.

“There’s a lot of people who listen who won’t speak to anybody else for the rest of the day, so it’s important.

“But at the same time, we’ve just got to keep being innovative. And for younger audiences as well, we film everything. We’ve got a brilliant young socials team who are constantly coming up with great ideas for TikTok and Instagram.

“I really enjoy it, I love being silly and having fun. You can’t take yourself too seriously, can you?

“I do feel lucky. I really do have ‘pinch me’ moments in this job. I love it, and I really hope it shows.”

It does, Sara, it does.

Movie stars are an endangered species. They still exist, sure. Their beautiful faces still fill 50-foot screens, beaming down on us. Yet, there is a shortage of, say, Michael Douglas. A man who, over the span of decades, played an American president, a troubled detective, and a Wall Street tycoon so convincingly that the FBI recruited the actor to do a PSA for investment bankers about the perils of financial fraud.

The night before I meet Michael Douglas on Zoom, I have a hard time sleeping. I want to be well-rested before I meet the leading man — perhaps one of the last leading men from an era in Hollywood that felt limitless. What do I mean by that? He’ll tell you. His new memoir details his movie-making career as a prolific producer and actor, along with his affair with his “Romancing the Stone” co-star Kathleen Turner, mudslides in Mexico, snorting cocaine with O.J. Simpson, encounters with Princess Diana and screaming matches with Paul Verhoeven that end in blood. In short: the life of a movie star.

“People say to me: Michael Douglas. When I see your name, I don’t know what I’m going to get, but I know it’s going to be good,” Michael Douglas says.

(David Urbanke / For The Times)

Halfway through our conversation, something unanticipated happens: Douglas reveals that he doesn’t quite see himself as a movie star. After gentle pushback, he elaborates. Instead, Douglas sees himself as a chameleon.

“People say to me: Michael Douglas. When I see your name, I don’t know what I’m going to get, but I know it’s going to be good,” he says.

He’s speaking from his home in New York. Behind him is a moody 18th-century Orientalist painting, its scene too indistinct for me to make out. His smiling face — which, like most American moviegoers, I had watched 50 feet tall in the dark — glows with warmth even on my laptop screen. It seems abnormal even to witness him in miniature.

To be clear: Michael Douglas is a movie star, whether or not he wants to cop to it over Zoom. It’s in his blood. His father, Kirk Douglas — born Issur Danielovitch to Russian Jewish immigrant parents — was a legendary actor whose shadow Douglas struggled to escape, as he details in the early chapters of his memoir. He spent his childhood on movie sets, watching his father spar with iconic directors like Stanley Kubrick. Michael Douglas was subject to violent and angry outbursts as well. “Dad’s volatility kept us on edge,” he writes. He felt suffocated by his father’s legacy, often hoping to shake the title of “Kirk Douglas’ son.”

Early in his career, Douglas left his starring role on TV’s “The Streets of San Francisco” after producing his first film, “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” which became a breakout success. On that film, he had to deliver the shattering news to his father that he was too old to play the lead — essentially, firing his father from his dream role. It was a betrayal. Instead, the role went to Jack Nicholson, who would later win an Academy Award for his humanizing portrayal of Randle McMurphy. The film won multiple Academy Awards, launching Douglas’ career as a heavyweight producer and later an actor. Escaping the shadow of being Kirk Douglas’ son has been a lifelong battle for the actor.

(Grand Central Publishing)

Occasionally, inheritance can be a burden. In his own life, Douglas details how he was a distracted father and husband who lost sight of his son, Cameron Douglas. During Cameron’s childhood, Douglas was elsewhere — on location in the Mexican jungle in “Romancing the Stone,” then a disastrous film production in Morocco for “Jewel of the Nile” that included a fatal plane crash that resulted in three crew members’ deaths. To cope with the breakneck pace of show business, Douglas sought refuge in women, cocaine and work.

Cameron’s troubled youth reached a crescendo when he was sentenced to five years in federal prison for drug smuggling, with an additional sentence for drug possession in prison — serving seven years in the end. It was enormously painful for Douglas, who also struggled with addiction, and had sought out treatment to provide an example to his son.

In a late chapter, he recalls confiding in Rob Reiner, who also had a son who struggled with addiction issues. In the memoir, Douglas addresses the killing of Rob and Michelle Reiner in December 2025; their son Nick has been charged with murder. “We both had sons with serious drug issues and we both, at times, had been at the end of our rope,” Douglas writes. “It was a heartbreaking confessional for us, but I know we gave each other some measure of comfort during the hard times.”

Why trudge through movie history, turning over every stone and every wound, in a nearly 500-page memoir? Because, according to Douglas, it’s time.

“Your 80s may be a good time to share,” the actor says, who recently turned 82. “People interested in movies, we give them a certain insight into the process, and maybe they could learn something. For others, it’s just gossip.” His battle with Stage 4 oral cancer brought the contours of his life into stark relief, sharpened by seven weeks of radiation and chemotherapy. His official diagnosis was tongue cancer, but he told the public he had throat cancer, hoping to stall speculation in the press about the possibility of disfigurement — and, more specifically, the prospect of losing his tongue. It was isolating, and Shane Salerno — the memoir’s co-author — stayed by Douglas’ side.

Michael Douglas.

(David Urbanke / For The Times)

As much as Douglas’ memoir, “One Helluva Ride,” is a revealing and delightful account of a life in show business, it is also a love letter to California — a place where Douglas spent much of his adult life, beginning at UC Santa Barbara. The college travel brochure read: campus by the sea. “I remember the cover of it was a guy walking down the beach with a surfboard, two girls in two-piece bathing suits. In 1963, I never saw a two-piece bathing suit back east.” He was sold.

The California years made an impression. Douglas is still, at heart, a hippie. Raised in stiff East Coast prep culture, he was reborn in the California sunshine. “I transferred into becoming a hippie, influenced by the Maharishi Mahesh Yogi, hallucinatory drugs, and the world that existed in the early ‘60s in San Francisco.”

Strangely, Douglas argued that some of the utopic sentiments of the 1960s are returning. “People are beginning to look back at that time, and realize how important family is — cooperation, sharing,” he says. “Socialism is not a four-letter word or something that’s terrible. There are other things to pursue in life other than just making money.”

“Your 80s may be a good time to share,” Michael Douglas says.

(David Urbanke / For The Times)

Like the characters he portrayed, Douglas is far from perfect. He admits that he struggled — in his first marriage, and later as a father. After marrying Diandra Luker, Douglas was unfaithful, having relationships with co-stars, most notably Turner on the set of “Romancing the Stone” in the Mexican jungle. The two denied the relationship for years. Now, with Turner’s blessing, Douglas writes about their involvement in his memoir.

Before Turner, there was Diane Thomas, the film’s waitress-turned-screenwriter, with whom Douglas had an affair. Thomas’ life was tragically cut short in a car accident involving a Porsche that Douglas had gifted her.

Then there were the rumors. On the set of “Basic Instinct,” some speculated that Douglas and Sharon Stone were having an affair. They weren’t, he explains. Douglas was instead locked in a power struggle with director Verhoeven, who, during one particularly heated argument with the actor, suffered a burst artery in his nose, turning the confrontation into a bloody scene. Douglas, meanwhile, was involved with another co-star, Jeanne Tripplehorn. “They were so focused on a possible relationship between Sharon and me, they missed the real relationship happening between me and Jeanne,” he writes.

When he and his current wife, actor Catherine Zeta-Jones, made it official, Douglas went to the other room to make breakup calls to five other women. (By this point in the memoir, Douglas has enough goodwill to pass this off as charming.) “From the moment I met Catherine, and we formed our family, I was a new man,” he writes.

The memoir enshrines Douglas’ petty show-business grievances too: a repaired grudge against David Letterman, a TV co-star who stole his longtime girlfriend, and a bouquet sent to Julia Roberts to apologize for his drunken buffoonery. In Douglas’ words: “There’s two or three people that I share my hostilities with.” He clashed with Brian De Palma, who was originally attached to direct “Fatal Attraction” and tried to have Douglas fired. De Palma underestimated Douglas and was replaced by Adrian Lyne. Years later, De Palma apologized, but Douglas rejected it.

It is impossible to tell the story of Douglas’ career without the women he encountered. The films he championed helped establish a new type of female lead — in all their powerful, morally ambiguous and deranged glory. “An actress was not allowed to play a villain,” he says. In “One Flew Over the Cuckoo’s Nest,” the actor struggled to cast Nurse Ratched. “A whole number of leading actresses turned that part down until we found Louise Fletcher, who went on to win an Oscar.”

For Glenn Close, Sharon Stone and Kathleen Turner, acting opposite Michael Douglas was transformative. After her role as a murderous, sex-crazed bisexual in “Basic Instinct,” Stone became one of the biggest stars of the 1990s and earned an Oscar nomination for Martin Scorsese’s “Casino.” Close‘s portrayal of the mistress-turned-lovesick psychopath in “Fatal Attraction” earned the actor her first lead Oscar nomination after three supporting nods. Turner went from being primarily known as the sexy femme fatale of “Body Heat” to a Golden Globe-winning star with box-office clout after her collaboration with Douglas. Sure, she sued him, too, but their friendship survived.

However, it wasn’t until his role as Gordon Gekko, the fast-talking, impulsive tycoon in 1987’s “Wall Street,” that Douglas was in full force, winning an Academy Award for lead actor. Directed by Vietnam veteran Oliver Stone, Douglas delivered an unforgettable performance about the dangers of unchecked capitalism and greed. At an early New York screening, Douglas recalls Wall Street traders being stunned by the film’s stinging accuracy. “A lot of the Wall Street characters were there, very cocky at the time; they all were shocked because we caught them.”

To his surprise, Wall Street financiers approached him on the street to praise Gekko — anointing him as their hero. “I said, ‘I was the villain.’ ‘No, no, no,’” he said. “So it showed me a lot.”

It speaks to Douglas’ gifts as an actor that he could transcend the caricature of white male entitlement he portrayed with such precision. In “Falling Down,” filmed during the 1992 uprising triggered by the Rodney King verdict, Douglas plays an unemployed defense worker, a man so consumed by disillusionment and blinded by his own sense of victimhood that he cannot recognize the harm he inflicts on others. The character would prove eerily prescient, anticipating an archetype that would take shape in the decades to come. An entire generation mistaking the actor’s brilliance as an invitation.

Perhaps that is the strange thing about being a movie star: Audiences decide who you are, and what you mean to them. For a chameleon, an actor who spent a lifetime resisting other people’s definitions of him, that might be the ultimate paradox.

As our conversation winds down, I remind him of his immense contributions to filmmaking, through producing and acting. It seems redundant, but I say it anyway. His response is polite.

“Quirky,” he said. “‘Falling Down,’ ‘The War of the Roses’ — I love those quirky films.”

“I’m proud of my movies,” he says. “I’m very proud of my movies.”

Connors is a culture journalist in L.A. She covers books, food, entertainment and offbeat Los Angeles. She’s currently at work on a book of essays about tourism in all its forms.