How many of us ever thank those who shaped our lives? In these witty yet surprisingly tender letters, JANET STREET PORTER says: Thank you for making me the nation's favourite big mouth

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Success: Janet Street-Porter wants to thank the people who have helped her in her life

What goes through your mind when you are told that death is around the corner? Despair? Rage? Depression? 

Novelist Iain Banks is in that unenviable position — doctors have told him his gallbladder cancer is terminal and he has only a few months left to live.

This wonderful and much-loved author, who has given us 27 best-selling books including The Crow Road and The Wasp Factory, is working hard to complete what will be his final novel, The Quarry, which he hopes to have published in June, while he’s still with us.

He has also decided to write thank-you letters to his favourite authors, telling them how much he values their work and spelling out how they have enriched his life. 

This act of selflessness is utterly moving.

It’s inspirational to think that someone in pain and with no easy answers to their predicament can take the time to stop and let others know how they have enhanced his time on earth.

If only we spent a bit more time thanking others. We just don’t do it enough.

Maybe it takes something dreadful, such as a terminal illness, to make us realise that we are nothing without friends and inspirational role models. 

On my own journey, I have been helped enormously by so many people. They are not all famous, but each one that crossed my path has had a huge impact on my development. 

Iain’s plan to thank other writers has given me the impetus to write a few thank-you letters of my own. 

I’ve reached the age of 66 and still have a successful career as a writer and broadcaster because I’ve developed the confidence and determination to succeed. That has been a direct result of other people. 

So here are a few of my thank- you letters . . .

Elton, who tells me if I'm being a pain Inspirational: Janet Street Porter and Elton John

In the 1970s, I was presenting a television series for young people, interviewing punks and a series of young musicians who sneered at the rock gods of yesteryear. 

One day, the phone rang at my house in Yorkshire — it turned out to be Elton John, whom I had met briefly a few years earlier through my hairdresser, Keith. 

As a teenager, I’d seen Elton playing in hotels in North London, and later in blues bands in Soho, but we weren’t mates. 

Elton was at the height of his fame, surrounded by acolytes pandering to his every whim. 

Later, he would admit these were the ‘troubled’ years, when his consumption of drink and drugs was prodigious. 

He asked me to have lunch with him, as he loved the films I’d been making and wanted to hear more about the punk scene.

I begrudgingly agreed to meet, as long as he picked me up from his local station — Datchet, near Windsor.

A week later, I stepped off the train and there was Elton waving hello, the only bloke on the platform! 

It marked the start of a friendship that has lasted to this day, and I gave a speech at the dinner following his civil partnership to David.

DEAR ELTON...

Thank you for always being open to new ideas. I’ve never met anyone who spends so much time absorbing culture — reading, listening to music, checking out new performers and young artists.

You have never been afraid of expressing your opinion — I know it’s landed you in hot water from time to time — but the most captivating quality you have is a sheer enthusiasm for talent. 

You’re not ashamed to be a fan. That’s why you’ve championed and worked with young musicians like Eminem, Justin Timberlake and Lady Gaga, as well as brilliant artists such as Marc Quinn, Damien Hirst and Gary Hume. 

You are inspirational because you’re always receptive to anything. 

Of course, you’re stroppy, demanding, single-minded and a workaholic — but those are qualities I respect and emulate. And you’ve turned out to be a great dad, which I would never have predicted back in the 1970s. 

Best of all, you are one of the few people with the guts to tell me when I have crossed the line and become a pain in the backside. Thanks.

Janet xx

The auntie who made me a snob Cultured: Janet, aged 12, with her Auntie Eileen

You might wonder where the hugely opinionated JSP sprang from. Was she born with a huge interest in popular culture, music and books? No, my dad’s taste in reading didn’t get much beyond Reader’s Digest and gardening manuals. 

My interest came from Auntie Eileen, who had worked with my mother in the civil service during World War II. They shared a flat, went to parties and had fun together. 

Eileen had been engaged, but was jilted. She’d been a ballet dancer when she was younger and the two women would go to the opera and ballet regularly. 

When my mum and dad set up home together, I was born within a year and Eileen was my godmother. At the age of ten, Eileen took me under her wing.

Every Saturday, for four years, I would leave our house in Fulham, West London, and travel by the No. 28 bus to visit her bedsit in Notting Hill Gate. 

She was my passport to a different way of doing things.

DEAR AUNTIE EILEEN...

Thank you so much for making me speak French on Saturdays, buying me foreign newspapers, taking me to weird, arty movies with subtitles and forcing me to sit through entire plays in French, aged 14. 

I remember listening to Edith Piaf and Charles Trenet records in your sitting room, eating croissants in chic patisseries in Kensington and sitting on a cushion at the ballet at Covent Garden during Saturday matinees.

You told me navy was much smarter than black, and you turned me into a fully-formed cultural snob by the age of 16. 

Thanks for treating me like a grown-up and not patronising me. 

Two years later, I was the only first-year student at college who had seen all the French new-wave movies. I don’t know why Mum stopped speaking to you — maybe she was jealous.

Janet xx

The super-cool first husband I cheated on First husband: Janet with Tim in 1970

I married my first husband, Tim Street-Porter, in 1967.

He had bravely given up studying architecture in his final year of college to work as a photographer.

We met when he showed his short films at the ICA in London — he was tall, thin and very glamorous. 

He knew Pink Floyd (he did some of the light shows for their first concerts) and was friends with rock groups he’d met in California. 

We were a perfect couple —and spent all our time at art openings, underground clubs and little bistros in Chelsea and Soho. 

Tim built up a network of friends in the arts as I started my first job on Petticoat, a teenage magazine. 

In less than a year, aged 21, I was a columnist and deputy fashion editor on this newspaper. 

Tim took some fantastic pictures of me modelling — he gave me the confidence to look exactly the way I wanted and sod everyone else. 

In 1967, he did an advertising campaign for Olivetti and we met Pete Townshend of The Who. Everyone loved Tim — and he complemented my rather brusque manner perfectly.

DEAR TIM...

You opened my eyes to so many things. Your attitude always was: ‘Let’s do it!’ We bought a car in New York and drove it across the U.S. — my first road trip.

We went to Japan for a month in 1970 and spent months travelling in California, Mexico, Italy and France. 

Through you, I felt comfortable in the company of artists, designers and creative people. You were always curious about the new and the avant-garde. 

I am sorry I eventually cheated on you and behaved badly — I was rude and immature and it was a lousy way of repaying you for everything you gave me. 

We made a beautiful house, threw some great parties and I will always treasure our years together.

Janet xx

The teacher who saw off the bullies

As a teenager, I went to Lady Margaret Grammar School in Fulham, wore horrible thick National Health specs and had boring beige hair. 

I was nicknamed Olive Oyl by the other girls because of my skinny legs. I had little confidence about my appearance, but I didn’t show it. 

One teacher saw my potential and singled me out for extra lessons after school. Miss Boundy, my art teacher for seven years, encouraged me to draw and paint and made me think I could achieve anything. 

I passed Art A-level with flying colours and went on to be the first girl from the school to train to be an architect.

DEAR MISS BOUNDY...

You were so enthusiastic, it was catching, even though some of the nasty girls whispered you might be a lesbian. What did they know? They were just jealous.I couldn’t care less.

Hours spent in the art rooms at the top of the school were wonderful. You encouraged me to start taking photographs, to prepare a portfolio of my work, to list all the exhibitions I went to and to collect images and stick them in a scrapbook. 

I am sorry I was so embarrassed when you went on the Russell Harty TV show in the late Seventies and produced a lino cut of John the Baptist I had done as a sixth former. It had been used as a design for a mural in a church in South London.

I’d been filming Johnny Rotten and loved The Clash — so being reminded of all this just made me cringe!

Now I can see what a brilliant teacher you were. I still go back to Lady Margaret Grammar and can hear your voice in those top-floor corridors.

Janet xx

The fashion queen who made me fearless Fashionista: Janet with Zandra Rhodes

As an 18-year-old student, I glimpsed an extraordinary woman across a room at a party in London.

She had painted black-and-white checks around her eyes, wore a scarf stylishly around her head and was accompanied by a man with the longest hair I’d ever seen in London. 

This couple stood out from everyone else, utterly confident and self-contained.

They were Zandra Rhodes and Alex McIntyre, in their final year of studying textile design at the Royal College of Art.

For decades, we were inseparable, holidaying together, hanging out at each other’s flats. I modelled for Zandra and my husband Tim photographed her clothes. 

Over the years, though, we went our different ways.

Alex married Deborah, a great friend of mine, and Zandra has a long-term partner and spends most of her time in the U.S. 

Zandra built up a successful business as an international designer, with her extraordinary prints worn by everyone from rock stars to royalty.

DEAR ZANDRA...

Thanks for never compromising. As a friend, you could be just as annoying as (now) I know I am. You fell asleep at posh dinner parties all the time. You dozed through premieres and theatrical opening nights. 

You got up at dawn every day and worked seven days a week. You lived 100 per cent for your work and never stopped drawing, making notes, bubbling with ideas. 

You were reputed to be an imperious and demanding boss. Now, who does that remind me of? We are a bit like two peas in a pod — as your fashion career took off, so did mine in TV.

I quickly moved from being in front of the camera to creating formats and developing a kind of programming for young people that eventually influenced mainstream factual shows. 

You dyed your hair pink and so did I. It’s a shame we don’t see much of each other now — to be honest, we’d annoy each other too much!

But you gave me the gift of believing in myself and, from the moment I saw you across the room at that student party, I wanted to be like you — fearless.

Janet xx

The Crumbly chums who became my family

One of the reasons I feel so happy no matter what work I’m doing or how much my creaky knees ache is that I’ve stayed close friends with a small group of mates since my 20s who I call the Crumblies. 

We met when I was a student or just starting out in my career. They are totally unimpressed by fame and celebrity culture. They are creative, outspoken and very talkative — so we’ve got a lot in common! 

Over the years, I’ve made few close friends in the media, preferring to go on holiday and spend birthdays and weekends with my old pals.

Crumblies: Friends Anne, Alex, Deborah and Janet

We argue, play cards, drink wine and cook each other huge feasts. We’ve already booked the hotel for next New Year’s Eve and are hiring a house in Italy this summer. 

The Crumblies have stuck with me through four husbands, three long-term relationships and plenty of unsuitable boyfriends.

They have become my family and, surrounded by them, I will be happy for the rest of my life — not that we ever whinge about getting old!

DEAR CRUMBLIES...

When any of my partners have met you, they always say: ‘Why do all your friends talk so loudly at once!’ That’s why I love you. 

You share my passion for walking, map-reading, collecting junk, trawling for bargains and spending hours over lunch sitting outside on a shady terrace in Italy or France. 

You are all very good cooks. You love visiting churches and museums, and exploring new places.

Every trip is a chance to experience new tastes and sights. We’ve known each other more than 40 years so we talk a kind of garbled shorthand. It’s brilliant.

Thanks for being tolerant, and thank goodness I found you.

Janet xx