Barbara Bach, famously known for her role as Bond girl Triple X, wasn’t waiting for James Bond to come to her rescue; instead, she was on a quest for her own prince charming—rock legend Ringo Starr, also known as Sir Richard Starkey.
Now at the age of 77, Bach reached the zenith of her career when she starred in the 1977 film The Spy Who Loved Me, where she portrayed Anya Amasova, a complex character who was both the love interest and a rival to the charming yet womanizing 007, played by Roger Moore.
In a candid 1983 interview with People, Bach didn’t hold back her opinion about her character’s relationship with Bond, referring to him as “a chauvinist pig who uses girls to shield him against bullets”. Moore himself agreed, stating in a 1973 People interview: “Bond, like myself, is a male chauvinist pig. All my life I’ve been trying to get women out of brassieres and pants”.
Before landing her iconic role in the Bond franchise, Bach had appeared in several Italian films, including Black Belly of the Tarantula, where she shared the screen with fellow Bond actresses Claudine Auger and Barbara Bouchet.
Bach’s portrayal of the KGB agent Anya Amasova not only solidified her status as a beloved Bond girl but also opened doors to numerous opportunities in her acting career. Following her Bond debut, she starred in Mad Magazine Presents Up the Academy (1980) and Caveman (1981), where she worked alongside Ringo Starr, who played a Neanderthal vying for her affections. Interestingly, the movie’s script contrasted sharply with their actual relationship, as they only became romantically involved towards the end of filming.
In a revealing Playboy feature from 1981, Bach noted: “A lot of garbage has been written about us, none of it interesting. The truth is, we weren’t together until the very end of Caveman. Working, we got along fine, but we each had other people, our respective friends. Then, all of a sudden, within a week—the last week of shooting—it just happened. We changed from friendly love to being in love”.
In a 2021 interview with the Irish Examiner, Starr reminisced about their first encounter at Los Angeles International Airport in 1980. “I love the woman. I loved her from when I first saw her at LAX”, he shared. “I’m blessed she’s in my life, that’s all I can ever say.”
Starr, renowned as the drummer for the legendary band The Beatles, was once part of a performance at New York’s Shea Stadium in 1965, where Bach was present. However, she revealed that she wasn’t an ardent Beatles fan, attending the concert with her sister Marjorie, a passionate follower of the band. “I liked [Bob] Dylan, Ray Charles, and the Rolling Stones”, Bach remarked in a People interview from 1981.
Bach’s sister eventually married Joe Walsh, the Eagles guitarist, who later performed with Starr in the All-Starr Band. Just months after John Lennon’s tragic death, Bach and Starr tied the knot on April 27, 1981, with notable guests including Paul McCartney and George Harrison.
Their journey together hasn’t been without challenges. Just before their wedding, the couple survived a near-fatal car accident, which prompted them to vow to stay together. Starr remarked: “We decided we wouldn’t spend any time apart. So far the longest break was five days, and that was too long. I want to live every minute with Barbara”.
The couple also took a significant step together in 1988 by entering rehab, emerging sober since then. Celebrating their 40th wedding anniversary in 2021, Starr shared a nostalgic wedding photo with the caption:, “It was 40 years ago today The love of my life said yes yes yes”.
Starr and Bach’s love extends beyond their personal lives; they also have a blended family, with Starr having three children from his late wife Maureen Cox and Bach two from her former marriage to Augusto Gregorini. Together, they run the Lotus Foundation, which supports various causes, including animal welfare, substance abuse, homelessness, and cancer research. Starr donates all proceeds from his art sales to the foundation.
There’s no denying the deep affection shared between Barbara Bach and Ringo Starr, a bond that remains as strong as ever. As Bach expressed: “I love the man, and that’s it”. Starr echoed her sentiments, saying: “There’s no escape… I think I love Barbara as much (today) as I did (when we met), and I’m beyond blessed that she loves me and we’re still together”. Their inspiring love story continues to resonate, and fans eagerly anticipate what they will accomplish together in their charitable endeavors and personal lives.
Neighbor Kept Knocking Over My Trash Bins – After 3 HOA Fines, I Taught Him a Lesson in Politeness
When Elise’s trash bins became the target of her bitter neighbor’s antics, she was ready for a fight. But instead of confrontation, she served up banana bread and kindness. What began as a quiet war turned into an unexpected friendship, proving that sometimes, the best revenge is compassion.
When my husband, James, passed away two years ago, I thought I’d weathered the worst storm of my life. Raising three boys, Jason (14), Luke (12), and little Noah (9), on my own wasn’t easy. But we’d eventually found our rhythm.
The house buzzed with the sound of schoolwork being explained, sibling banter, and an endless rotation of chores. We kept the garden alive, argued over who had dish duty, and made a life together that was equal parts chaotic and beautiful.
Things were finally steady. Manageable.
Until the neighbor decided to wage war on my trash bins.
At first, I thought it was the wind or a stray dog. Every trash day, I’d wake up to see the bins overturned, their contents scattered across the street like confetti.
“Bloody hell,” I muttered the next time I saw it. “Not again.”
I’d have no choice but to grab a pair of gloves, a broom, new trash bags, and start cleaning up before the Home Owners Association could swoop in with another fine.
Three fines in two months. The HOA weren’t playing fair. In fact, they’d made it very clear that they weren’t taking my excuses anymore.
But one Tuesday morning, coffee steaming in my hand, I caught him red-handed. From my living room window, I watched as my neighbor, Edwin, a 65-year-old man who lived alone, strolled across the street.
He didn’t even hesitate. With one swift motion, he tipped over my bins and shuffled back to his house like nothing had happened.
My blood boiled.
I was halfway to grabbing my shoes when Noah bounded down the stairs, asking for help with his math homework.
“Mom, please! It’s just two questions. Remember we were talking about it when you were doing dinner last night and we said we’d come back to it but we didn’t,” he rambled.
“Of course, come on,” I said. “I’ll get you some orange juice, and then we can work on that quickly.”
Homework first, trash war later.
The following week, I stood guard.
This time, I was ready.
And sure enough, there he was at 7:04 a.m., knocking the bins down with a strange sort of satisfaction before retreating inside.
That was it. Enough was enough.
I stormed across the street, adrenaline pumping. His porch was stark, no welcome mat, no potted plants, just peeling paint and drawn blinds. I raised my fist to knock, but something stopped me.
The quiet. The stillness of it all.
I hesitated, hand frozen mid-air. What was I even going to say?
“Stop knocking over my bins, you old lunatic?”
Would that even fix anything?
I went home, fuming but thoughtful. What kind of person gets up at the crack of dawn just to mess with their neighbor?
Someone angry. Someone lonely. Someone in pain, maybe?
“You’re just going to let him get away with it?” Jason asked that night, arms crossed and clearly ready to fight for me. “He’s walking all over us, Mom.”
“I’m not letting him get away with anything, love,” I replied, tapping the side of the mixing bowl as I stirred. “I’m showing him that there’s a better way.”
“And when baked goods don’t work, Mom?” Jason asked, eyeing the banana bread batter in the bowl.
“Then, my little love, I’ll set you on him. Do we have a deal?”
My son grinned and then nodded.
But it was during dinner prep, while I was putting together a lasagna, that I thought… instead of fighting fire with fire, what if I fought with something… unexpected?
The next week, I didn’t stand guard.
Instead, I baked.
Banana bread first, specifically James’ favorite recipe. The smell brought back memories I hadn’t let myself linger on in a long time. I wrapped the loaf in foil, tied it with a piece of twine, and left it on Edwin’s porch.
No note, no explanation. Just bread.
For a few days, the banana bread sat untouched on his porch. The bins stayed upright, but I still wasn’t sure what was going through his head.
The next morning, the foil-wrapped loaf was gone. A good sign, maybe.
Emboldened, I doubled down.
A casserole followed the banana bread. Then a bowl of chicken noodle soup.
Days turned into weeks, and not once did I see him open the door or acknowledge the food. But he didn’t tip the bins again, either.
“Mom, you’re going soft,” Jason said one evening, eyeing the plate of cookies I was about to deliver.
“No, I’m not,” I replied, slipping on my sneakers. “I’m being strategic.”
The cookies did the trick. That Saturday, as I placed them on the porch, the door creaked open.
“What do you want?” he asked.
I turned to find him peering out, his face lined with age and what looked like years of solitude. He didn’t look angry. Just… tired.
“I made too many cookies,” I said, holding up the plate like a peace offering.
He stared at me for a long moment, then sighed.
“Fine. Come in.”
The inside of his house was dim but surprisingly tidy. Bookshelves lined every wall, stacked high with novels, photo albums, and other trinkets. He motioned for me to sit on the worn sofa, and after a moment of awkward silence, he spoke.
“My wife passed four years ago,” he began, his voice halting. “Cancer. After that, my kids… well, they moved on with their lives. Haven’t seen much of them since.”
I nodded, letting him take his time.
“I’d see you with your boys,” he continued. “Laughing, helping each other. It… hurt. Made me angry, even though it wasn’t your fault. Tipping the bins was stupid, I know. I just didn’t know what to do with it all.”
“You don’t just walk over to your neighbors and tell them you’re miserable,” he said, shaking his head. “That’s not how I was raised. You bottle it up and deal with it.”
His voice cracked on the last word, and I felt my frustration melt away. This wasn’t about trash bins. It was about grief. About loneliness.
“I’m sorry,” he said, his head bowed.
“I forgive you,” I replied, meaning every word.
“I don’t even know your name,” he said.
“Elise,” I said. “And I know you’re Edwin. My husband mentioned you once or twice.”
Then, I invited him to join my Saturday book club at the library. He looked at me like I’d suggested he jump off a bridge.
“Book club? With strangers!”
“They’re not strangers,” I said. “Not really. They’re neighbors. Friends you haven’t met yet.”
It took some convincing, but the following Saturday, Edwin shuffled into the library, hands stuffed in his pockets. He didn’t say much that first meeting, but he listened.
By the third, he was recommending novels and trading jokes with the other members.
The real turning point came when one of the ladies, Victoria, a spry widow in her seventies, invited him to her weekly bridge game. He accepted.
From then on, he wasn’t just my cranky neighbor. He was Edwin, the guy who brought homemade scones to book club and always had a dry one-liner up his sleeve.
The bins stayed upright. The HOA fines stopped.
And Edwin? He wasn’t alone anymore.
One evening, as I watched him laughing with Victoria and the other bridge players on her porch, Jason came up beside me.
“Guess you weren’t soft after all,” he said, grinning.
“No,” I said, smiling as I ruffled his hair. “Sometimes, the best revenge is just a little kindness.”
And in that moment, I realized something: We weren’t just helping Edwin heal. He was helping us, too.
The first time Edwin came over for dinner, he looked like he didn’t know what to do with himself. He showed up holding a bottle of sparkling cider like it was a rare treasure. His shirt was freshly ironed, but he still tugged at the collar as if it might strangle him at any moment.
“You didn’t have to bring anything,” I said warmly.
He shrugged, his lips twitching into something that resembled a smile.
“Didn’t want to come empty-handed, Elise,” he said. “It’s polite.”
The boys were setting the table, Noah carefully placing forks, Luke arranging the glasses, and Jason lighting a candle in the center. They glanced at Edwin curiously, a little wary.
Dinner was simple but comforting: roast chicken, mashed potatoes, and honey-glazed carrots, with a loaf of crusty bread and gravy on the side. It wasn’t fancy, but it was one of James’ favorite meals. It was something that always brought warmth to the table, no matter how chaotic the day had been.
“Smells good in here,” Edwin said as he sat down, his eyes darting around like he was trying to take in every detail of the room.
“Mom’s chicken is famous in our family,” Noah piped up proudly, scooping a mountain of mashed potatoes onto his plate. “She makes it the best.”
“High praise,” Edwin said, glancing at me.
We all settled in, and for a while, the only sound was the clink of forks and knives against plates. But soon, the boys started peppering Edwin with questions.
“Do you like chicken or steak better?” Luke asked.
“Chicken,” Edwin replied after a moment of thought. “But only if it’s cooked as well as this.”
Noah giggled.
“What’s your favorite book? Mom says you like to read a lot.”
“That’s a tough one,” Edwin said, rubbing his chin. “Maybe To Kill a Mockingbird. Or Moby Dick.”
Jason, always the skeptic, raised an eyebrow.
“You actually finished Moby Dick?”
That made Edwin laugh, a deep, hearty sound that seemed to surprise even him.
“I won’t lie. It took me a year.”
By dessert, apple pie with a scoop of vanilla ice cream, Edwin had relaxed completely. The boys were swapping stories about school, and he was chuckling along, even teasing Jason about his upcoming math test.
As I cleared the plates, I glanced over to see Edwin helping Noah cut his pie into bite-sized pieces, patiently showing him the best way to balance the ice cream on the fork. It was such a tender moment, and my heart squeezed a little.
When dinner was over and the boys ran off to finish homework, Edwin lingered in the kitchen, drying dishes as I washed them.
“You have a good family,” he said softly.
“Thank you,” I replied, handing him a plate to dry. “And you’re welcome here anytime. You know that, right?”
He nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed.
“I do now.”
Leave a Reply