The lost diary

The Day I Met Philip Heath

This is an update to my doll blog. I had shared this story before, but after 26 years, the memory had faded and softened with time. Recently, while clearing out my loft, I came across an old diary and found the original entry. It was so lovely to hear my younger voice telling the story with such clarity — full of detail, excitement, and emotion that I had long since forgotten.

As I read those pages, it all came flooding back.

Back then, I had managed to convince my entire family to travel down to Harrogate, all for the chance to catch a glimpse of him and, if I was lucky, have my doll Ashinecha from 1994 signed. It felt like such a big adventure, something I had been looking forward to for so long.

We stayed in a hotel near the venue, taking a family room as well as a double for my parents. True to form, we did our usual moaning about the room, the price, and then again over dinner — the service, the food, and, of course, the cost. It makes me smile now, reading that part. Some things never change.

After dinner, we decided to call it a night. But as we were leaving the restaurant, everything changed in an instant.

It was him — Philip Heath.

I gripped my mum’s hand and, somehow managing to stay composed, politely smiled as we walked past him. We didn’t stop. We just kept walking.

But the moment we turned the corner, all composure vanished. I was jumping up and down, waving my arms, silently shouting, “That’s him! That’s him!”

My dad and husband both said, “Who?”
And at exactly the same time, my mum and I replied, “Philip Heath, of course!”

As we stood there, still full of excitement, my dad asked if I wanted to meet him.

Of course I did — but I said I didn’t want to disturb him.

That didn’t stop my dad.

Before I had time to think, he had already turned around and was heading straight back into the room, gently but firmly pulling my mum and me along with him. My husband stayed behind with our two sons, probably knowing exactly what was about to happen.

I can still remember the feeling — a mixture of excitement and sheer panic.

Before I knew it, I was standing in front of Philip Heath, introducing myself and telling him how much I admired his work.

And then, something completely unexpected happened.

He invited us to sit down and have a drink with him.

I was absolutely dumbfounded. I’m sure my jaw must have dropped as I sat down beside him, hardly believing what was happening. My dad, thankfully, did most of the talking — without him, it might have been a complete disaster as I had gone into total freeze mode.

But as the conversation went on, I found my voice.

He was warm, charming, and deeply passionate about what he did. Even now, reading my diary entry, I can feel how much that stayed with me — the way he spoke about giving everything to his work, even when it came at a cost.

Eventually, we said our goodbyes, and I went to bed that night full of excitement for the next day.

I had no intention of buying another doll. We had already spent enough just getting there, and I had brought Ashinecha to be signed — that was all I had planned.

But then I saw him.

Will.

I had been admiring him in a doll magazine for months — his little face, full of attitude, so much like my son, who by this point was completely fed up with the whole affair. I simply couldn’t resist. And, as luck would have it, I had a very handy credit card with me.

There was no way I was leaving without him.

I took my ticket for the signing — number 62 — and the waiting began. Time seemed to move painfully slowly. My four-year-old son was growing more impatient by the minute, and my eleven-month-old baby would soon need feeding. Thankfully, my mum and I persuaded my husband and dad to take them for a walk.

In the meantime, my mum was trying to decide between two of the triplets — Josephine or Seraphina. After much deliberation, she finally chose Seraphina.

Then came another delay. The signing stopped while Philip Heath gave his talk.

At that point, I seriously considered going home. We still had hundreds of miles to travel, and it was getting late. But everyone persuaded me to stay — it would have been such a shame to come so far and leave with so little to show for it.

I’m so glad I listened.

When his presentation began, the room fell quiet. Then came the first slide — and an audible gasp from the audience.

It was the original Ashinecha.

Not the vinyl version I had brought with me, but the porcelain original. She didn’t look like a doll at all — she looked like a living, breathing child. It was extraordinary. I remember sitting there, completely in awe, wondering how one person could create something so lifelike, so perfect.

And in that moment, I found myself thinking how I wished I could create something so beautiful.

Just then, my baby began to cry.

I smiled and laughed quietly at the irony. At that exact moment, Philip Heath stopped his presentation and asked if the baby was alright.

“Yes,” I said, “he’s perfect.”

It wasn’t long after that I found myself at the front of the queue. My oldest son met him, had his photograph taken, and Philip commented on his sweet Scottish accent. He even signed a poster for him, thanking him for being such a good boy while waiting so patiently.

I left that day with another beautiful doll.

But more than that, I left with something far more precious — a golden memory.

And a quiet sense of contentment.

Because as much as I admired the beauty he created… I realised I had created something perfect too.