It sounds like a worthwhile project and I’d be very happy if it happened. Ned is someone you can call up at any time if you’ve got a problem, but you’d better make it an interesting problem, and make it worth his while to listen to. He’s like an older brother or sister to me.NED SHERRIN: In 1967, I was just about to finish my contract with Columbia Pictures when they asked me if I’d produce the film of The Virgin Soldiers as they’d bought the book by Leslie Thomas. I was talking to my old friend and co-writer Caryl Brahms about a good composer to do the opening music, and almost without hesitating Caryl said, “Oh, you should use Ray Davies of the Kinks.” Caryl was about 70 at the time and completely au fait with the pop scene, and drew my attention to their singles “You Really Got Me” and “Sunny Afternoon” I’d never heard them before I rarely play music at home; I’m more of a Radio 4 person. But Ray’s music really interested me – it seemed accurately topical and to catch the spirit of the moment. I thought the Beatles’s music was charming pap and and there seemed to be no relevance to the period in the Rolling Stones’ lyrics – I just couldn’t understand them.I asked Ray to come round to my house in Bywater Street, and he agreed to do the opening tune.

I can’t remember what he was wearing or who was there, but we’ve remained friends ever since We auditioned all the virgin soldiers in that house Wayne Sleep, Hywel Bennett and David Bowie all came round. David did a rather wooden screen test, but we did use him in once dance scene as an extra; I still get letters from people asking which one he is.Ray may have had a reputation for being quite a prickly person at the time, but as far as I was concerned he was never a moment’s trouble: polite, attentive to what was needed, and then he just went away, composed the music and delivered it on time. I don’t think he wrote it down – because I don’t think he can read music. Writing, though, is something we never usually discuss – we deliberately shy away from the daily grind.

It’s a wonderful piece of music; it’s perfect for the film, and it utilises the fife and other military band instruments over a series of historical stills of soldiers up until the present day. Everyone was very pleased with it.We’ve known each other ever since; not in a hip and thigh sort of way, but we’ve had a great many meals and sunk a great many bottles together over the years. The conversation simply flows between us – Ray’s a loquacious sort of fellow. I do remember that after one meal in about 1969, we’d had so many bottles that we went to the Jermyn Street Turkish Baths to sweat it out, and simply carried on talking until morning. We usually eat around Chelsea – it was the Casserole in the old days, now we often go to the Canteen.

The last time we had a meal together was at the end of last year with Tim Rice, who is a notorious collector of rock icons and who hadn’t met Ray – so I introduced them. It was rather a success, I think.In the early Seventies, I did a series for the BBC called Where was Spring with Eleanor Bron and John Fortune. Klaus Voorman of Manfred Mann did some simplistic animations for it and each programme had a musical interlude which I got Ray and the Kinks to do. Ray wrote something for each show, and the whole group would come in and do it. He and his brother, Dave, would quite often bicker – they were famous for it.I’ve listened to all Ray’s music now. He hasn’t produced that much over a long period of time, but he has a love of rural England and a view of social history that’s very special – he’s perhaps the best English songwriter ever. I’ve put a show together of his songs under the working title of See My Friends – rather on the lines of Noel Coward’s Cavalcade.

I’d like to do it by the millennium and it will cost about pounds 5 million – but then everything does these days. Ray loves the idea and will probably have strong ideas and get closely involved when the thing gets off the ground.I’m of a different generation to him – about 10 years older, but I’m not old enough to be paternal; we’re simply friends. Sometimes I’ll get a phone call from Ray’s office, asking my advice on something, or sometimes Ray will ask me himself. He needed a manager, so I put him together with mine, Deke Arlon, back in 1994; it seems to be working well.I keep in touch with both Ray and Dave.