I was in the south of France and the phone rang. It was my friend John Cleese. “Can you recommend somewhere for my 69.9th birthday party?” he asked. “I’m having the 70th five weeks later, in California.” I recommended the private room at Nobu or the Goring Hotel.

Putting the phone down I said to Geraldine, “He’s so generous, John. He’s just gone down the pan $20m to a lousy cause (grasping ex-wife), leaving him with massively less. Yet he still wants to lavish entertainment on friends.”

“Why don’t we give him a party at your house?” said Geraldine. I don’t know what happened for the next five minutes because I fainted.

When I came to, I phoned John and said, “I’ll do the party, you invite the guests.”

This was an extraordinary gesture. The last party I gave was 20 years ago, for Arnold Schwarzenegger. He famously said, after my speech of welcome, “Michael is more than a good friend to me; he’s a complete stranger.” We made up later.

I don’t believe in entertaining at home. I called my favourite caterer, Johnny Robertson-Roxburgh of the Admirable Crichton. Menus were discussed, furniture moved, tables brought in. We had seven waiters for 34 people, champagne and canapés served in my private cinema, a beautifully cooked meal — the caterers bring their own ovens — of beetroot-marinated salmon, chicken and thyme pie, saffron-scented salad of fig, blackberry and red grape with clotted cream and a birthday cake that was a wedding cake with a bride and groom on top and, in icing, the words “Better luck next time”.

A photo on the menu was captioned: “Michael Winner and John Cleese on his honeymoon in St Lucia with Alyce. Right friend. Wrong wife.” Guests included Michael and Shakira Caine, David Hare, Nicole Farhi, Michael Palin and Leslie Caron, whose fascinating autobiography has just been published.

I rose to speak. “I want you to know,” I announced, “what I say now comes from the heart. This party is a f****** nuisance.”

I hate giving parties. Will everyone arrive on time? Will someone drop out at the last minute? Will guests stain my antique furniture? Miraculously, nothing awful occurred. The food was spectacularly good. I produced historic red wine from my cellar. White Puligny-Montrachet flowed.

Johnny rang me before the event and said, “Have you looked at the quote?”

“I trust you,” I replied.

“Did you notice the garlands round the chicken pot pie?” said Johnny.

Times Recommends

• Champagne cocktail
• Food that's good for body and soul
• Joe McCanta’s never-fail hangover-relief shake