I used to work in a pub some time ago. Every Friday, a rather distinguished elderly gentleman would come into the pub, his wife would be doing the weekly grocery shop. He'd sit at the bar and order a pint of bitter while he would wait for her.
When I first saw him, I couldn't help but have that feeling that I'd seen him somewhere before, but couldn't quite place him. I shook the feeling off, figuring that I've seen many older gentlemen in the street, and, living in the area of the pub, I'd probably have seen him around somewhere. Anyway, Lucy, the assistant manager and I were pissing around because it was quiet, the gentleman regarding us with an indulgent smile, then I said to Lucy something along the lines of 'I wish Brian Blessed was my dad you know'.
At this, the man leaned forward on his stool, grinned broadly and simply said 'What? Mad Brian?' He then proceeded to tell us both tales of Brian Blessed, himself and his other friend (Only fucking Patrick Stewart!). Turns out that this gentleman of distinction was Sir Ian Richardson. Who passed away this morning.
When I first saw him, I couldn't help but have that feeling that I'd seen him somewhere before, but couldn't quite place him. I shook the feeling off, figuring that I've seen many older gentlemen in the street, and, living in the area of the pub, I'd probably have seen him around somewhere. Anyway, Lucy, the assistant manager and I were pissing around because it was quiet, the gentleman regarding us with an indulgent smile, then I said to Lucy something along the lines of 'I wish Brian Blessed was my dad you know'.
At this, the man leaned forward on his stool, grinned broadly and simply said 'What? Mad Brian?' He then proceeded to tell us both tales of Brian Blessed, himself and his other friend (Only fucking Patrick Stewart!). Turns out that this gentleman of distinction was Sir Ian Richardson. Who passed away this morning.
LW