Sophie Ellis Bextor came over and spoke to me after she left the ladies toilet at an Elvis night in Victoria many years ago. Turns out one of her old school friends is a big Elvis fan and she invited her along, she was with her now husband from some band or other.
Did she say 'I'd give it five minutes if I were you'?
Sophie Ellis Bextor came over and spoke to me after she left the ladies toilet at an Elvis night in Victoria many years ago. Turns out one of her old school friends is a big Elvis fan and she invited her along, she was with her now husband from some band or other.
It was at Knebworth. Neither of them had heard of Jimmy Seed.
A lot of addicks haven't either.
So all these Charlton fans sit there in the North, East and West stands looking at the name above the Jimmy Seed Stand and don’t know who he is ? I’ll grant you there are probably a few youngsters who might not but that’s not what you meant.
I meant there are layers of knowledge in fans. Many take little interest in stuff that happened before their time. And, let's face it, Jimmy Seed's time at Charlton ended in 1956.
Troll
Or WUM? Can someone who understands the finer points of web protocol help us out here?
I happened to be in Tallinn, Estonia when Charlton played QPR live on Sky in March 2000. I found a bar showing the match and ended up sitting at a large table near the TV with a group of mostly Estonian women. I started chatting with them after a bit and turns out they were models and make up artists who had just done a fashion show round the corner. Mostly tall, green eyed blondes at an average 9.5. After a bit they said they were leaving and would I like to go to a party. I said no thanks as I was watching the football. We won 2-1and were promoted soon after.
There's dedication to the cause and then there's rank stupidity.
When I was 12 back in 1968 I was on holiday with parents in Northern Spain. I got friendly with a couple of French brothers Phillipe and Francois. We became pen pals and the following couple of Christmas times I visited them in Paris. Their father was a General in the French Army and was Director of the Military Academy in Paris. Mother taught French to the American diplomats at the American Embassy in Paris. Seems she taught the ambassador at the time Sargent Shriver. She used me as a conversation topic in the French conversations during his tutoring so he knew quite a lot about me. When I visited he insisted I go to lunch at the embassy for a chat. It was quite an experience for a 13 year old and I was given the whole treatment. Escorted by uninformed American soldiers and given the tour. At the end of the afternoon I was given a Stars and Stripes and tricolour joined flag and a really nice wooden American eagle. It’s something I will never forget.
Shriver was charming and friendly. As an aside a couple of years later in 1972 he was the Democratic Party choice to run as Vice President to George McGovern which they badly lost to Richard Nixon. In 1976 he ran for the Presidential nomination for the Democrats but dropped out after the first primary.
Ps. They had a gorgeous sister who was 18 who I had a crush on until about now actually.
Spelling mistake of the week.
Or perhaps not a spelling mistake and they were like most Americans?
Reminds me.
When I was 12 back in 1968 I was on holiday with parents in Northern Spain. I got friendly with a couple of French brothers Phillipe and Francois. We became pen pals and the following couple of Christmas times I visited them in Paris. Their father was a General in the French Army and was Director of the Military Academy in Paris. Mother taught French to the American diplomats at the American Embassy in Paris. Seems she taught the ambassador at the time Sargent Shriver. She used me as a conversation topic in the French conversations during his tutoring so he knew quite a lot about me. When I visited he insisted I go to lunch at the embassy for a chat. It was quite an experience for a 13 year old and I was given the whole treatment. Escorted by uninformed American soldiers and given the tour. At the end of the afternoon I was given a Stars and Stripes and tricolour joined flag and a really nice wooden American eagle. It’s something I will never forget.
Shriver was charming and friendly. As an aside a couple of years later in 1972 he was the Democratic Party choice to run as Vice President to George McGovern which they badly lost to Richard Nixon. In 1976 he ran for the Presidential nomination for the Democrats but dropped out after the first primary.
Ps. They had a gorgeous sister who was 18 who I had a crush on until about now actually.
Thanks to this getting bumped, I've just rediscovered Carter's fancy dress punch up story, and damn near piddled meself laughing at the copper's description of the call they got.
I briefly dated Rachel Uchitel in 2003. Look her up if the name seems familiar.
Then this happened
I had no idea who this woman is but now I've looked her up, I can say it's sad to see how far Tiger Woods fell, that he'd have to make do with Napa's cast-offs.
I was walking through a red light area in Bangkok having had a few beers. A man stopped me, showed pictures of several young ladies and suggested that I chose “a pretty girl”. I walked on ignoring him, but he persisted. “Pick two pretty girls”, he suggested. I continued to walk on, but he was keen to display his skilled salesmanship. “I get you four pretty girls”. This stopped me in my slightly drunken tracks not because I wanted four pretty girls but in admiration of his craft, you will, of course, understand. Seeing me stop increased his enthusiasm “how many pretty girls you want?”, he asked. The next bit I can’t explain, but being a young man at the time with an agile mind that was good at mental arithmetic, I found myself doubling up his latest offering two more times “how about 16 pretty girls?”, I challenged. Without a moment’s hesitation, the Bangkok Salesman of the Year clapped his hands, whistled two or three times, shouted some things in Thai and before my hazy brain could respond there were the first of 16 pretty girls heading towards me. The story ends in total cowardice. I was young enough at the time to run for it. If I made the same faux pas now, I would never have escaped. Who can say how that would end? A heart attack, I suspect.
I briefly dated Rachel Uchitel in 2003. Look her up if the name seems familiar.
Then this happened
I had no idea who this woman is but now I've looked her up, I can say it's sad to see how far Tiger Woods fell, that he'd have to make do with Napa's cast-offs.
Especially given she's just make up and plastic surgery.
I was working in a t-shirt printing factory when we had to print a sample t-shirt for Green Gartside from Scritti politti and he came in to approve it. When he arrived The word girl was playing on the radio.He just smiled and said 'thats my song playing on the radio'.He liked the shirt and gave us approval to run the print.
In the mid 80's I was a young engineer working in London, early one lovely Summer morning I was driving down Shaftesbury Avenue on my way to a site when inexplicably the drivers side front wheel of my van somehow came away and rolled off on its own whilst my van scraped to a halt. Me and the other lad in the van watched in horror as the wheel rolled away and then just stopped and fell on its side, as that happened a rather weary and bleary eyed Michael Caine dressed in a DJ was crossing the road, he took a look at the wheel and then walked over to me and just said "did you know your vans wheel is over there, suggest you pick it up" with that he gave a wink & continued his journey. I then had to figure out how to fix my mechanical problem. These days I would have taken a photo and asked him for a photo together, but all I could do was look at my mate and ask him did that really happen.
I have no idea about what happened to Elizabeth. The pen pal friendship faded and at about age 15 we lost contact. I do know that her intention was to become a dentist like her elder sister.
Thanks to this getting bumped, I've just rediscovered Carter's fancy dress punch up story, and damn near piddled meself laughing at the copper's description of the call they got.
Thanks to this getting bumped, I've just rediscovered Carter's fancy dress punch up story, and damn near piddled meself laughing at the copper's description of the call they got.
I’ve got a few. The most obvious is the one I’ve told before - five masked men invaded my house, got the wrong address, apologised, shook my hand and left!
This is a true story, when i was a kid , back in the 60s me and a couple of mates (both dead now, one from diabetes one stabbed to death outside the Shakespeare Pub in Powis St) use to muck about by the ferry. When the tide was out, we use to lob stuff in to to see how big a splash it would make in the mud.
So we find an old truck road spring, we pick it up and sling it in, only my mate didn't let go and ended up face down in the mud. We both tell our mate ,Mickey Mac, "if your swallow Thames mud or water you are dead in a hour"
Mickey is now spitting out mud and crap, so we all decided to walk to the ambulance station that used to be on the roundabout by the ferry. We tell the ambulance man, who is having a crafty smoke outside the station what has happened, he says to Mickey ''Did you swallow anything?" Mickey says " Yeah loads" Ambulance man says "Fuck me son, you'll be dead in an hour" So i pipe up "Can you take him to St Nicks?" the ambulance then says "No! Fuck off get a bus, he's filthy and will make my ambulance shitty"
Mickey is now shitting himself, as 15mins has now passed and only got 45mins to live, so we traipse down to the bus stop and wait, along comes a 177. The bus conductor on the platform says " He can't get on the bus like that he's all muddy and stinks" We explain what has happened, Bus conductor says " Fuck me son if you swallow Thames water you only have an hour to live... but you aint getting the bus!"
Now we have to walk, run, stumble to St Nicks in Plumstead. When we get there we go into casualty as it use to be called to be greeted by "BIG" Irish nurse, who directs Mickey through a doorway into some sort of courtyard. she returns with a white enamel bucket full of water. She tells my mate Mickey to strip down to his pants, Mick who is from a poor family of 7 does not have any pants on! (we were all 9yrs old at the time) and he is told i don't care "Strip" So Mick does, no sooner is he naked he gets the bucket of cold water poured over him and then while he is shivering he gets a Tetanus jab right in the arse. Happy Happy Days!
Best friends.
In 1971 I moved to Norwich and worked in a large
engineering factory.
I became friends with David Smith.
David and his wife Francis 'Had to get married'
(a term older readers would recognise).
They had a 2 year old daughter Emma.
Forced into an unhappy marriage as teenagers,
they soon parted.
David had access to Emma on Saturday’s, an
arrangement that worked for some months.Then one Saturday David
went to collect the little girl from his ex-wife and the house was empty.Despite desperate attempts
David was unable to find his ex-wife and the child he loved. Over the years David
became bitter and angry about his lost daughter.He would send Christmas
and birthday presents to an address in America where he believed his ex-wife’s
cousin lived and where he believed his daughter had been taken to, but never
received any reply.
Romance
The years passed, David
and I worked in a section where we had frequent visits to install and
commission equipment in the U.K. and oversea.During one such trip to
Finland, one of our colleagues fell in love with a Finish lady, brought her
back to Norwich and they married.It was at the wedding that
David met one of the Finish woman’s friends who was a bridesmaid.Romance blossomed and
David eventually married Ava who had a very good career in her home country, so
they decided to set up home in Finland.
That could have been the
end of the story but.
Fast forward several
years.I was passing through one
of the planning offices at work when one of the lads called to me.
“Hey John. You’ve worked
here some years, do you ever remember a bloke called David Smith”?He was holding a
telephone.
“I’ve got a bloke on here
who is inquiring about him”.
“Hello” I said taking to
phone.
“My name is John Taylor”
he said.
“And I’m try to contact
David Smith as his daughter Emma who lives in America wants to find her dad as
her mother has died”.
I explained to John that
this was far too important to discuss here and took his telephone number and
rang him that evening.It was actually John
Taylor’s wife who had Emmas contact address.
She said Emmas mum had
stayed with them in Norwich over the intervening years while visiting from
America and the little girl had asked about her dad, Mrs Taylor was temped to take the girl to see her dad but was reluctant to betray the trust of Emmas mum. I told her David was
married and living in Finland with his wife and young son.I was sure David would be
‘over the moon’ to be reunited to his long lost daughter but, I would pass
Emmas address to David but would hold David’s address from Emma in case he did
not wish to include her in his life.Mrs Taylor and I agreed we
would be the go-between.
The detective.
I sat at the table
writing.
Dear David
Your lost daughter.
No.
Dear David
I have some brilliant news
for you.
I stopped writing
I couldn’t write one of
the most important letters I ever written. I telephoned the
international telephone directory with the intention of telephoning David. They said he had just been
connected but did not have his number.
“Where are you going”
asked my wife as I was pulling on my coat.
“I’m going to the village where
David’s dad lives and see if he has David’s telephone number”.
I went into the bar of one
of the two pubs in the village.
It was an early winters
evening and the bar was deserted.
The barman pulled me a
pint.
“I’m trying to find a Mr
Smith” I said.
The barman understandably
gave me a smile shaking his head.
“I don’t know anyone of
that name who drinks in here” he said.
“Now, this man is retired
and drinks in a pub with his two mates and sails a boat on the broads”. I
explained.
“No don’t know him” said
the barman.
“His granddaughter was
taken from the family many years ago”.
I explained the full story
to the barman who listened intently.
“I know the man” he said
and gave me Mr Smith’s address.
It was a dark cold night
as I knocked on the door of the bungalow.
An old man opened the
door.
“I’m a friend of your son
David” I blurted.
He looked at me
suspiciously through the gloom.
“I need to contact him
about his daughter—“
“Emma” he interrupted.
“Yes she’s want to contact
him as her mother has died”.
“I’m amazed,” he said.
He stood back shaking his
head. He told me she was a small
child when he last saw her.
“I am trying to telephone
David to give him the news”.
“He has just been
connected but I don’t know his number” said the old man.
I had drawn a blank.
We exchanged pleasantries
and I went home and wrote to David with the news.
Very soon they were reunited
in Finland and maybe the end of the story but--.
A couple of years later I received
a telephone call from David. He had flown into Norwich
for a brief visit to his father whose life was coming to an end. We met at a pub, enjoyed a
meal and a couple of pints and David said Emma stayed with his family in
Finland for a while but she was really a young American woman and now lived
back in the states. His only regret was that
she didn’t form a lasting relationship with his son.
Fast forward a couple of
years and I received an email from Ava.
David Smith had died suddenly
after a short illness and she wished his daughter Emma could attend the funeral
but she had lost the woman’s contact address. I replied that I had also
lost contact with Emma and the Taylors but would try to help.
I telephoned the company
where John Taylor worked and talked to a guy who knew john Taylor and he said
John had left a couple of years ago and did not have any contact address. Then remarkably the next
day he telephoned me and said after our conversation he literally bumped into
John Taylor while late night shopping in Norwich. So the link was made. I
spoke to John, emailed Emma with the news and she attended the funeral.
I also told of David’s
wish regarding her and his son’s relationship.
The remarkable fact about
this tale is. I have never met Ava (who sends me a Christmas card every year)
or the Taylors, and only remember Emma as a small child.
Comments
Plausible? Careful.
Or perhaps not a spelling mistake and they were like most Americans?
It’s been driving him mad for months.
When the tide was out, we use to lob stuff in to to see how big a splash it would make in the mud.
So we find an old truck road spring, we pick it up and sling it in, only my mate didn't let go and ended up face down in the mud. We both tell our mate ,Mickey Mac, "if your swallow Thames mud or water you are dead in a hour"
Mickey is now spitting out mud and crap, so we all decided to walk to the ambulance station that used to be on the roundabout by the ferry. We tell the ambulance man, who is having a crafty smoke outside the station what has happened, he says to Mickey ''Did you swallow anything?" Mickey says " Yeah loads" Ambulance man says
"Fuck me son, you'll be dead in an hour" So i pipe up "Can you take him to St Nicks?"
the ambulance then says "No! Fuck off get a bus, he's filthy and will make my ambulance shitty"
Mickey is now shitting himself, as 15mins has now passed and only got 45mins to live, so we traipse down to the bus stop and wait, along comes a 177. The bus conductor on the platform says " He can't get on the bus like that
he's all muddy and stinks" We explain what has happened, Bus conductor says " Fuck me son if you swallow Thames water you only have an hour to live... but you aint getting the bus!"
Now we have to walk, run, stumble to St Nicks in Plumstead. When we get there we go into casualty as it use to be called to be greeted by "BIG" Irish nurse, who directs Mickey through a doorway into some sort of courtyard.
she returns with a white enamel bucket full of water. She tells my mate Mickey to strip down to his pants, Mick who is from a poor family of 7 does not have any pants on! (we were all 9yrs old at the time) and he is told i don't care "Strip" So Mick does, no sooner is he naked he gets the bucket of cold water poured over him and then while he is shivering he gets a Tetanus jab right in the arse. Happy Happy Days!
A most remarkable episode of my life.
Best friends.
In 1971 I moved to Norwich and worked in a large engineering factory.
I became friends with David Smith.
David and his wife Francis 'Had to get married' (a term older readers would recognise).
They had a 2 year old daughter Emma.
Forced into an unhappy marriage as teenagers, they soon parted.
David had access to Emma on Saturday’s, an arrangement that worked for some months.Then one Saturday David went to collect the little girl from his ex-wife and the house was empty.Despite desperate attempts David was unable to find his ex-wife and the child he loved. Over the years David became bitter and angry about his lost daughter.He would send Christmas and birthday presents to an address in America where he believed his ex-wife’s cousin lived and where he believed his daughter had been taken to, but never received any reply.
Romance
The years passed, David and I worked in a section where we had frequent visits to install and commission equipment in the U.K. and oversea.During one such trip to Finland, one of our colleagues fell in love with a Finish lady, brought her back to Norwich and they married.It was at the wedding that David met one of the Finish woman’s friends who was a bridesmaid.Romance blossomed and David eventually married Ava who had a very good career in her home country, so they decided to set up home in Finland.
That could have been the end of the story but.
Fast forward several years.I was passing through one of the planning offices at work when one of the lads called to me.
“Hey John. You’ve worked here some years, do you ever remember a bloke called David Smith”?He was holding a telephone.
“I’ve got a bloke on here who is inquiring about him”.
“Hello” I said taking to phone.
“My name is John Taylor” he said.
“And I’m try to contact David Smith as his daughter Emma who lives in America wants to find her dad as her mother has died”.
I explained to John that this was far too important to discuss here and took his telephone number and rang him that evening.It was actually John Taylor’s wife who had Emmas contact address.
She said Emmas mum had stayed with them in Norwich over the intervening years while visiting from America and the little girl had asked about her dad, Mrs Taylor was temped to take the girl to see her dad but was reluctant to betray the trust of Emmas mum. I told her David was married and living in Finland with his wife and young son.I was sure David would be ‘over the moon’ to be reunited to his long lost daughter but, I would pass Emmas address to David but would hold David’s address from Emma in case he did not wish to include her in his life.Mrs Taylor and I agreed we would be the go-between.
The detective.
I sat at the table writing.
Dear David
Your lost daughter.
No.
Dear David
I have some brilliant news for you.
I stopped writing
I couldn’t write one of the most important letters I ever written. I telephoned the international telephone directory with the intention of telephoning David. They said he had just been connected but did not have his number.
“Where are you going” asked my wife as I was pulling on my coat.
“I’m going to the village where David’s dad lives and see if he has David’s telephone number”.
I went into the bar of one of the two pubs in the village.
It was an early winters evening and the bar was deserted.
The barman pulled me a pint.
“I’m trying to find a Mr Smith” I said.
The barman understandably gave me a smile shaking his head.
“I don’t know anyone of that name who drinks in here” he said.
“Now, this man is retired and drinks in a pub with his two mates and sails a boat on the broads”. I explained.
“No don’t know him” said the barman.
“His granddaughter was taken from the family many years ago”.
I explained the full story to the barman who listened intently.
“I know the man” he said and gave me Mr Smith’s address.
It was a dark cold night as I knocked on the door of the bungalow.
An old man opened the door.
“I’m a friend of your son David” I blurted.
He looked at me suspiciously through the gloom.
“I need to contact him about his daughter—“
“Emma” he interrupted.
“Yes she’s want to contact him as her mother has died”.
“I’m amazed,” he said.
He stood back shaking his head. He told me she was a small child when he last saw her.
“I am trying to telephone David to give him the news”.
“He has just been connected but I don’t know his number” said the old man.
I had drawn a blank.
We exchanged pleasantries and I went home and wrote to David with the news.
Very soon they were reunited in Finland and maybe the end of the story but--.
A couple of years later I received a telephone call from David. He had flown into Norwich for a brief visit to his father whose life was coming to an end. We met at a pub, enjoyed a meal and a couple of pints and David said Emma stayed with his family in Finland for a while but she was really a young American woman and now lived back in the states. His only regret was that she didn’t form a lasting relationship with his son.
Fast forward a couple of years and I received an email from Ava.
David Smith had died suddenly after a short illness and she wished his daughter Emma could attend the funeral but she had lost the woman’s contact address. I replied that I had also lost contact with Emma and the Taylors but would try to help.
I telephoned the company where John Taylor worked and talked to a guy who knew john Taylor and he said John had left a couple of years ago and did not have any contact address. Then remarkably the next day he telephoned me and said after our conversation he literally bumped into John Taylor while late night shopping in Norwich. So the link was made. I spoke to John, emailed Emma with the news and she attended the funeral.
I also told of David’s wish regarding her and his son’s relationship.
The remarkable fact about this tale is. I have never met Ava (who sends me a Christmas card every year) or the Taylors, and only remember Emma as a small child.