Stop me if I sound gushy, but here's what happened yesterday. The pardner and I were in Piccadilly. We stepped out of a samwich bar and gulped a few lungfuls of fresh air.
And then, it happened. Time slowed down. Traffic stopped. A black taxicab drew up in front of us. My eyes were drawn to the door. It opened and a tall, portly man emerged, blinking. He had a large nose and was in a purple velvet jacket. Our eyes met. He smiled.
He then trotted across the road and entered a building cordoned off by policemen in fluorescent jackets.
My hand moved slowly, reaching for my phone, and I managed to take a picture of his back.
Here is that picture.
Hours later, in my pew in St. James, listening to Mendelssohns violin concerto in E minor (yes, I know he only had the one v. conc., but it does happen to be in E minor) I realised that
1) I had become a celebrity-obsessed paparazzita
2) I saw him, and he looked at me! I am Ralph Wiggum.
2 comments:
Woo hoo!
Prof. Trefusis would be proud of you!
Next time, please get tissue from samwich bar and ask for autograph for "your friend D"
D
i don't care for autographs somehow, so i don't think i'd ever ask for one.
will send a picture if i meet the man again.
meanwhile, feel free to meet kenyan superstar runners and pose with them. (hmph. how come that never happened when i was in bangalore?)
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