The landlord at our local, let’s call him Charlie, is a personable enough chap. I’ve not been going there for donkeys years like some of the locals, but he’s always got time for a quick chat and I’ve finally got to the stage with him where I can ask for a pint of the ‘usual’. This in itself is a milestone in any mans life, see here for what makes you THE man, but being well known enough in your local pub to be in the position of never having to name your choice of beverage ever again definitely makes you A man. It’s a right of passage. Much like losing your virginity, in that you feel like a proper, fully-functioning adult afterward – except without the obvious embarrassment, sweating, braces and nagging thought at the back of your mind that you should get home pronto to scrub your balls with Domestos, as choosing Sharon, the local bike, probably wasn’t the best choice the first time you parked the beef bus in tuna town. Though to be honest, the choices were limited in those days when all you could afford was two tickets to Pretty Woman and a jumbo box of popcorn.
Anyway, I digress.
It’s not all sweetness and light with Charlie. Last night he told me, “You’ll never guess who we had in here last night?”
“Who”
“That funny tall bloke in ‘My Family’”
Now, I’m sure you’re thinking, “There’s nothing wrong with that Angry, it’s an interesting bit of local gossip, and sure to spark a lively conversation on the relative merits of modern sitcoms produced with todays television license revenue”. Well, in isolation I think you’d be right. However, this is not the first time this has happened. Oh no.
You see, despite my numerous visits to this pub, which for the last three years number two or three a week, I have not once seen anyone famous. Not that I particularly want to you understand. It’s just that this is not the first time this has happened. In fact Charlie uses the phrase “you’ll never guess who was in here last night”, in the same way your or I might say “Did you see who was in the paper yesterday”. Yet I have not seen one shred of proof to support his claims.
The list of ‘celebrities’ who Charlie claims have been in his pub over the last few years is long and distinguished. All of whom I’ve missed. Without exception. Here are a few of my highlights:
-
* “The bloke from My Family”
* Prince Harry
* “The other bloke from My Family, y’know, Citizen Smith”
* Paul Young
* Prince Beatrice (she was 17 at the time)
* “Will from Will and Grace”
* David Furnish (Mr Elton John to you and I)
* Steve Coppell
* George Best
And my personal favourite…
- * Kofi Annan
Now, he admits that last one might just have been a lookeylikey, as he never actually asked his name on the basis that,
“He spends all day trying to save the world doesn’t he, so I didn’t want to interrupt him having a quiet pint and a bit of ‘me’ time.”
Of course, it could also have proven you to be a fraud, you wily old bastard. The fact that you’re probably 100 miles from the nearest building that could even loosely call itself a UN Office gives you a pretty valuable clue. I’m sure it’s rumours like this that keep his passing trade so high.
So, I have donated my old Polaroid camera to Charlie as part of my demand for proof. As a result I fully expect to see a photo of him with Osama Bin Laden adorning the bar within the week. Watch this space.
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