Used to be fat
True story- I went to school with Natalie Embruglia (Corpus Christi College, Tuggerah, NSW, Australia).

Didn't hang out or anything, she was in the music crowd, I was a science geek, and she was pretty chubby back then. We used to tease her (and all the other cooler kids, which included pretty much everyone else) a bit.

In retrospect, not my most shining time.
(pizzaforcat ate some cement and HARDENED the FUCK UP on, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 4:10, 3 replies)

Auf wiedersehn Tim
One of my pals had bumped into Tim Healy on a train. He thought it was pretty awesome, as Tim had consumed quite a bit of booze and was struggling to open the toilet door. My mate then showed him and tim was fairly grateful, he even threw in a pissed tommy cooper 'just like that' impression to demonstrate his understanding. Seemed a thoroughly pissed, but nice guy.

About three years later, me and said mate were sitting in a dingy boozer beside newcastle quayside, on the way out my mate spotted Tim at the bar, and walked up to him and said 'alright Tim? last time I saw you, you were pissed and couldn't open a train toilet door' Tim looked him up and down and came out with 'toilet on a train? I don't remember you. I didn't abuse you did I?'
(Lostbiscuit may crumble soon, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 0:51, Reply)

When I was young and all was right with the world.
My brother used to have a bit of trouble with his balance, and generally seeing things that were there. In other words, a clumsy twat.

Walking through the town centre one day, kids being kids, we were being little shits, chasing each other and punching each other in the arm or calling each other "bumhead".

After a while of this happening, my mother got a little wound up and decided enough was enough, and called us back, almost as if on cue, my brother managed to run into a man just walking out of the shop.

This man was none other than Vic Reeves.

Apparently he was very polite about it, and even found it quite funny that a small child had just bounced off of him.
(Maccy Divided by 0 on, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 0:24, Reply)

Tess FAIL-y
My Grandad is a taxi driver in Blackpool, and a few years back when Strictly Come Dancing came to Blackpool, he was busy shuttling crew back and forth between the Tower and hotels. Towards the end of his evening shift, he's given a job over the radio and picks up a lady from the back of Blackpool tower.

"Are you working on this Come Dancing as well then?" he asks.
"Yes", replies the blonde, "Have you been following it?"
"Nah" says Grandad, "I'm always working Saturdays, and me wife can't stand her what presents it".

The conversation ended there, and he only realised who his mystery passenger was when my parents asked if he'd switch the results show on whilst we were having a Sunday dinner.
(foxx, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 23:00, Reply)

More ignorant than rude
My mum is one of those people who loves chatting to anyone who can't escape but isn't so good at listening or noticing body language.

Last year she was visiting distant relatives somewhere outside Fresno in California. They decided to spend a couple of days in San Francisco and like good tourists went to visit Alcatraz. The ferry to the island was pretty busy and my mum had an empty seat next to her so a guy sat there while the rest of his family (and a couple of what she reckons were bodyguards) sat across the aisle. The guy was David Beckham and according to my mum he was really nice. This is even more surprising as apparently my mum told him (no doubt at great length and with much repetition) about how she grew up near Stamford Bridge and how she wished her dad was still around to hear that she'd met him as he'd been a massive Chelsea fan.

When my poor mum told me this and I broke the news that David Beckham had played for Man United rather than Chelsea she didn't believe me at first! I guess that either he's nice enough to humour her or she really was too oblivious to notice his discomfort.

Length? About 15 minutes apparently.
( ElParrot, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 22:23, Reply)

Another cricket one
This one actually comes courtesy of my fiance, who worked for NZ Cricket for a spell and has a lot of stories to tell. One of my favourites involves Martin Crowe.

Like Chris Cairns, he was kind of a big deal in the cricketing world, so naturally he was a bit of a twat. Late in his career he began suffering from the blight which affects most men at a certain age: impending baldness. Unfortunately for him, my missus-to-be decided to do her Martin Crowe impersonation while bored during a game, which went something like:

(assuming a hunch) "Hi I'm Martin Crowe and I'm a stupid bald cunt!"

Well, you'll NEVER guess who happened to overhear this! Crowe then came into the area where she was, grabbed something and shot her one of those looks that says "Man, fuck you!" and angrily shuffled his way out.

Last night she told me that she felt a bit bad about that now, because there's an ad for Advanced Hair Studio (baldy clinic) on TV here that features Crowe saying that he went to the studio because he "was sick of all the baldness jokes". Aw bless.

Also, Daniel Vettori stole her smokes. There were rumours around at the time that he was a bit of a klepto and she used to always get bored and doodle on her ciggie pack, os it was pretty distinctive. One game they went missing, making for a frustrating evening, but later when she was cleaning out their changing room, what should she see sticking out of Vettori's bag? Because she couldn't be seen with her hand in his bag for whatever reason, she instead poured 2/3 a bottle of water all over his bag and the ciggies, meaning that if she couldn't smoke them, no one could.

With a few exceptions, it sounds like all the cricketers she worked with were cunts. What does that tell you?
(ElGranto, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 21:39, Reply)

Insulting the big Gunns
This is one for all the kiwis out there.

About a year ago when i was working in a car dealership there was a prestiege dealership next door to us. We got on well with them and consequently knew all the staff there.
At the time they were looking for a new person to wash the cars on the yard for them. One day i spied the sales manager ( He will be a great subject for a QOTW sometime in the future ) showing someone around the yard. I only saw him from behind and the newbie did look a bit "gimpie" .

"Oh well another rocket scientist " was my first thought . Then the bloke turned around and i saw him properly. Oops my mistake its not a gimp its Jason Gunn. ho hum

The next day i was talking to one of the groomers about this in the wash bay . "Oh yes" said T " i saw him as well". At this point we started to discuss him and his career including Thingees eye poping out. The end point was my good self describing him in a not particulary quite voice as a "Strange gimpie half man-boy creature with an unnaturally large head and strange sticky outy ears".
I left and walked around the corner straight into the sales manager with ..............

Yes he had heard me and no they didnt look happy.
Meh.
(welgar, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 20:52, 2 replies)

I once glared at a bus with Mr. Tickle on its livery.
Mr. Tickle was there because the bus was the primary route serving Cleckheaton, where Roger Hargreaves (the author of the Mr. Men books) was born and raised, and I was working there at the time.

That's about the nearest you get to celebrity encounters out here in darkest Yorkshire. Unless Jimmy Savile is involved, and as I avoid Leeds as far as humanly possible, he isn't.

Oh no, I tell a lie. I share a hometown with the fellow who wrote those uplifting tales, Kes and Threads.
( The Mock TurtIe ™ --- Thinks you are a cunt, on, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 20:40, 3 replies)

Nice Girl
I met a girl a couple of weeks ago. We seem to get on pretty well, and I really, really enjoy her company. She is witty, smart, well travelled and very, very beautifull indeed.
Unfortunately, I suspect things will not progress much past the "just friends" stage, which I am rather sad about.
Anyway, she has a slightly unusual name so I Googled it the other night out of curiosity and to see if she is perhaps on facebook/bebo etc. I dont use any of these sites, but was willing to sign up to do some low-level stalking to find out more about her interests etc.
It turns out that she is actually quite famous within her profession, and while living in USA, appeared on a type of reality talent show for her field, which is a massive surprise to me.

I have no intention at all of being rude to her.
(dave likes cheese, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 20:29, Reply)

does anyone remember that idiot off school of rock?
lied to me at a party about being 19 (though funnily enough he is now). the reason I know is because i was actually 19 and unless he ages at a different rate to normal human beings, i didnt remember him being the same age as me before.

fool
(ladyintheradiator, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 20:04, 2 replies)

Good luck?
Meandering along the promenade whilst enjoying a lovely family jaunt to Blackpool I happened to be shat upon by an up-til-now achingly constipated feathered friend.

On the head.

And the face.

And my new saved-up-for-them-myself tucker boots.

"But its good luck to be shat on" my Dad struggled to convince me as he convulsed into silent mirth whilst wiping the steaming shit from my specs.
Got up, wiped myself down (again) (oh, and again). Went round the corner and bumped into Geoff Capes. Or rather, got bumped into by Geoff Capes. Worlds Strongest Man at the time Geoff Capes. I was 10 and approx 6 stone.

Quick trip to A&E, 8 stitches and 2 days of concussion later I was able to give my Dad 50 pence to go and put a horse on the Grand National for me (no lottery in them days Im afraid).

I think said horse was holding together my next pair of tucker boots.
(levanrouge, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 20:04, Reply)

Bob, your Christmas Album is crud...
There it is, folks - I've just been rude to a mega pop icon right here on b3ta. Or have I? What do you think of Bob Dylan's rasping, gravely vocal cords as he commits 1st degree homicide on much loved carols and (more deservedly, perhaps) treacly Xmas songs? Is it a send up? Is he losing his marbles? Or, is he laughing all the way to the bank??
(robinlaine, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 20:02, 2 replies)

Yet another story of meeting celebs at work (god I've had a lot of jobs)
I used to work in the Royal Albert Hall as a waitress and because I never got star struck I was always picked to work the celeb functions and to look after any celebs in the boxes. In my time there I met a ridiculous number of celebs including old time A listers such as Cliff Richard, Cilla Black, Gloria Hunniford etc. The only one where I actually got star struck was Terry Wogan - I remember watching him on the TV when I was barely out of nappies and I have to admit that I did purposefully go over and offer him some more wine. The oddest encounter was Gary Barlow from Take That about a year before they made their big comeback. I was working behind the bar at a function and he came up to ask for some more wine. I didn't recognise him until I noticed he was looking at me strangely which made me pay a bit more attention to him. I think he had me pegged as being the right age to have been a Take That fan and was worried that I was going to go all fangirl on him. He was right, I used to be a big Take That fan and when I was 12 I would have loved to have met one of them but I just treated him like any other person (might have been a different story if it was Mark Owen - I used to fancy him like mad). Not one of the celebs I met was rude to me in any way (which couldn't be said for a lot of the normal people I served) - all of them were quite courteous and said thank you if you offered them more wine and a canape. I think the nicest celeb I met there was Myleene Klass. I was the waitress one night in her box and she was telling me to have a drink and a canape myself and was quite upset when I told her I'd get in a lot of trouble if I was caught and so had to decline.
(mmm....beer, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 20:01, 1 reply)

Whippy
I once rubbed my throbbing bell-end across Richard Whiteley's bristly top lip.
(Chickenwire social lubricator extraordinaire, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 19:46, 1 reply)

Dissed
In the outer Hebrides, where I used to live, I saw a tall blonde man and his petite girlfriend standing beside their hired shopper bikes outside the local church hall. I swaggered in, nah I just walked in, to attend a clarsach concert, it's a small harp.

The tall blonde man looked as though he wanted to join me or at least know what it was all about, there were at least five cars parked in the grounds. But hey it was an under 12 gig and invite only so I ignored Robert Plant.

Did think "Who's the tourist trying to pull off the Robert Plant look on a shopper?" though. I spoke to him in the pub later that night, he was very nice. I said "excuse me" as I reached for my pint, he said "sure". I like to think it was tinged with jealousy.
(occassional, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 19:30, Reply)

Jimmy Carr and Prince Charles
A year or two ago sitting in the front row for Jimmy Carr with my then-girlfriend; both of us 15 years old.

Being a cocky little shit, when he asked for "any questions?" I thought it wise to ask why he was funnier last year. Straight away he came back with "because you weren't in the front row being picked on". Prick.
He then asked "What do you want to do when you grow up?". I made the mistake of saying "Same as you, but good." Cue laughter, followed by awkward silence as he invites me onstage and I shrink into my seat.

When I was roughly 7 or so, Prince Charles came to our local reservoir for some photo-opportunities. There was an educational room for children with a small glass tank with magnetised fishing rods. In the bottom of the tank were pictures of different sorts of fish etc. with paperclips on.

You know those friends-of-family who aren't related but are aunts, uncles and cousins?

Charlie W decided to have a photograph taken with my youngest 'cousin', about 5 years old, helping her to fish. She however wasn't happy with this and lashed out with the fishing rod. Cue Prince Charles being led away by security whilst nursing a closed eye and us bewildered children wondering who that strange man was.
(Voodoo-Child16 Pissed in their Champagne on, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 19:21, 1 reply)

I was very rude to Jason Patric once
We were on the set of 'Incognito', a long time ago. I was an extra and didn't have a clue who he was. He pushed to the front of the catering line, ahead of me. I gave him a proper un-lady like mouthful. He reddened and apologised profusely, but said he was due back on set right away, so was told to go the the front of the queue. It was rather sweet actually.
After he had gone, I was escorted off the site and have never been in a film since.
My late Dad out-did me though. He was rude to the Queen! In 2003 he was awarded an MBE and was told to report to the Palace to recieve it from the Queen herself. He wrote back and said thanks, but he was far too busy for all that faffing about (actual words). In the end, he was awarded it in his front room by the Lord Lieutenant. I made sandwiches.

I do miss the cantankerous old sod.
( TheSundaeLunch I'm a fucking shrub, alright?, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 18:09, Reply)

When I was a Medic in the TA I was doing some "stand by and watch" work on the set of a film they were shooting at the Playboy Mansion in America.
Mr T was there, but we can come back to that.
My eyes were instantly taken by the gorgeous blondes walking about the poolside in their skimpies, and some with nothing on at all (tee-hee)!!
Being a three time Black-belt I went over all stealthily and got in to my banana hammock. It's an awesome pair of trunks my Mum got me, they've got Batman on the front and they give me Courage to Talk to Girls +8!!
After a short while telling these girls about how I'm a level 80 magician on World of Warcraft. I have like, 12 accounts and I can give them away to all my best friends on the internet and stuff. I'm cool like that.
Anyway. They were well turned on which was their first mistake as I'm incredibly hot in bed due to my asthma and it blocking up my sinuses and stuff, thus making me susceptible to hot flushes.
I had like 8 of them at once and I was like "YEAH?" and they got all like "WOW!" which was their second mistake as I call World of Warcraft "WOW" when I'm out at bars with my friends from the internet so as not to be seen as an internet nerd by real life people who might be listening in with ear trumpets.
I totally said "Bye girls" and walked off back on to set. Then I roundhoused Mr. T.
( Jam Master Geordie Hero of B3ta., Tue 13 Oct 2009, 17:38, 8 replies)

On that ol' Autobahn
I was pulling onto the very fast and very scary autobahn in my 1.25l Fiat Punto, which is not known for its acceleration. It is even less known for its acceleration when carrying mountains of food, clothes, equipment and spares, including four spare wheels.

As I pulled onto the slip road, I looked round to my left, my view highly obscured by the mountains of stuff in the back. I expressed my annoyance at being unable to see properly, but looked in the left-side wing mirror to check whether the next lane was clear. It was, so I pulled out, only to be met by a shout from my co-driver. The coach that had been hidden from my view in the middle lane - which was going faster than us - was also pulling into the outside lane.

I swerved back onto the slip road but with only a hundred metres or so of it left and trees beyond, it was getting tight! I put my foot down and accelerated.... slowly. We crept up towards the front of the coach and as the end of the slip road came nearer and nearer we managed to slip out in front of...

...the Bayern Munich team bus. If they all die in a crash in the next couple of years, it'll be the driver's fault, I swear it.
(cypherspace is not a toaster, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 17:38, Reply)

Famous Man U footballers and me
I used to work on London's happening King's Road in the early 90's. Most of the Road is owned by the Cadogan Estate and they didn't want any bookies as tenants, so there isn't one on the road for a good mile or so. As this was pre-interweb, I had to go to a bookmakers to put my bets on. After a few days I eventually found a Billy Hills round the back by Sydney Street and became a regular at lunchtime. As was George Best. One lunchtime I met him on the street. We stopped and had a chat; he'd just been to Champneys or some such on one of his not-that-successful drying out spells and was looking better than usual. I wished him well and let him go, thinking how this might be the time he was going to turn the corner. Until I saw that he wasn't wearing any socks. And I could see his pyjama bottoms peeking out of the bottom of his trousers. And what did he smell of? Ah yes, mouthwash. Hides the gin, I believe.

The company I worked for had a children's department store in Manchester and we used to open it on occasion especially for the Beckhams. Him: lovely, lovely man. Sweet, good natured, self-deprecating, more intelligent than popular mythology would have you believe. Her: absolute nuct.

On a Man U-related note, my brother-in-law Paul is from Luton and hence a Man U fan. He was at the Champions League final in Barcelona a few years back and was having a pre-match drink in a bar. The BBC's Rob Bonnet was there and they go talking. Rob didn't have a ticket for the match, Paul did and told him so. Repeatedly. Rob eventually told him to fuck off...
(Merson, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 17:04, 3 replies)

LFB
I was recently in a queue for the lift at one of those swanky high rise office blocks. The lift seemed to take an age to arrive, and it became clear that it was stopping at every floor. The queue of people became increasingly impatient which was clear from the ‘tuts’ and the frantic looking at watches. (How looking at your watch is meant to make the lift arrive faster, I have no idea. But still).
After what seemed like hours, (but was probably only 10 minutes or so), the lift doors burst open and the people at the front of the queue where knocked aside by a whirr of brown legs and neighing.
I stepped into the lift, too late to avoid treading in the humungous pile of horse shite that had been left to fester on the floor.
I shouted ‘You annoying……’, but the lift doors had already closed before I had a chance to finish.
Long faced bastard.
(marcooosa has no idea what a board sig is, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 16:45, 2 replies)

The Diminutive one from ABC
I was working in a clothing store in New York City in the depths of the 90's when the short chap I was ringing up handed me his gold amex. Clocking the signature I realised this was none other than David Yarritu of reinvented popsters ABC (post Gold Lame). I actually really liked How to Be A Zillionaire and advised him of this, so we chatted for a bit about what Martin Fry and the rest of the band were up to - very nice chap and I think he was quite chuffed I had recognised him.

Others: Mrs Bathtub the 1st was in the Music Biz so while we lived in the US I managed to meet:

Def Leppard
The Replacements
The Proclaimers (weirdly at the Roseland NYC, I grew up in Fife about 15 minutes from Auchtermuchty)
Duran Duran (6 times!) - all lovely except for Warren whatsisface who was a bit elitist
Kiefer Sutherland (also shopped in my store)
Stephen King (Sold him jeans)

happy days

Bathtub
(bathtub has renounced CS3 for paint.net, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 16:42, Reply)

It’s cold outside, there’s no kind of atmosphere…
I met Craig Charles of Red Dwarf fame in a shop I was working in 11 years ago. He was really friendly and seemed happy to chat to me. He asked how Robert Llewellyn’s book The Man On Platform 5 was selling and bought a copy when I told him that none had sold. I have to say that selling Lister a book written by Kryten is the crowning moment of my life. Sad isn’t it.

I asked him what he had been up to recently; I was hoping he was going to say, “We have just filmed a new series of Red Dwarf, Rob Grant and Doug Naylor got back together to write it and it’s the best series yet, here, have an advance copy…” What he actually said was “I’ve just finished filming the new series of Robot Wars”. To my complete shame I said “…oh…” in the most disappointed voice heard to mankind since Captain Smith informed the passengers of the Titanic that their arrival in New York would be delayed due to the wrong kind of ice in the hull.

In my defence, the first couple of series of Robot Wars was like watching badly built remote control cars bump into each other for half an hour.
( Colonel Dracula Two manky hookers and a racist dwarf, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 16:15, Reply)

Not rude exactly but I was >this< close to putting Beckham in hospital.
I don't know much about football but I do know that quite a few years back David Beckham had bust his foot up good and proper and the question on every England fans lips was whether he was going to be fit enough to play for England in some World/European cup or whatever.

It baffles me to this day why the dopey twat shuffled out of his bentley, in Alderley Edge, foot in plaster, to go to the newsagents and didn't bother to look to see whether there was a large bright blue MG ZS driven by a hungover Seaman Gabber heading to him at speed.

Twas only my heightened red-bull powered reactions on the brake that kept him from another visit to Macclesfield Infirmary...and probably a visit by me too, once the fans had found out who'd put him there.

To this day I don't know whether he was annoyed or just surprised as he carried on his way across to get his copy of Razzle.
( Airman Gabber Living life like a 70's BBC presenter, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 15:52, 7 replies)

'Kirk' from Coronation Street
Is allegedly performing the ribbon-cutting ceremony on a brand spanking new Poundland store near where I live this coming Thursday.

It's a tragic shame that I have to go to work that day.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 15:46, 1 reply)

I was in Majorca...
Last weekend, i cannot divulge said story until the sun have been in touch
(fase69, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 15:38, Reply)

I made Terry
Waite. He got angry, the impatient bastard.
(Monkey the Chicken Twitter: death_stairs, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 15:36, 2 replies)

Ladies and gentlemen, Mr Vic Reeves.
I was meeting my boss, as we were travelling to London together for a couple of meetings with clients. We're not rent boys, by the way. Just wanted to clear that up. Anyway, I met my boss at Sheffield station, and he was on the phone. After he'd finished speaking and bade me a good morning, he asked if I'd seen Vic Reeves, as he was apparently in the vicinity. I told him I had not, but did tell him that I'd been invited to a talk by that very self-same man the evening before with some friends - an invitation I'd had to turn down with thanks as I didn't want to be hungover to go to London for my meetings. Which, as I might already have pointed out, were with clients, but not that kind of clients - we're not rent boys or any kind of escorts/male prostitutes. No.

So, my boss decided to go into Marks and Spencer to purchase a middle-class breakfast of yoghurt with granola. I didn't want to stand in the queue with him, looking for all the world like some kind of yoghurt-eater, so went outside - whereupon I saw Mr Vic Reeves stood outside Marks and Spencer idly thumbing through what looked like The Telegraph.

Seizing my chance, I approached him and delightedly addressed him: "Mr Reeves! What a pleasure to meet you!" We shook hands, which is when I became aware of how large his grasp was. We then spoke a little about his comedy; I asked him if he and Mr Mortimer were ever going to make another comedy series, and he said 'what, Shooting Stars?'

I replied that I meant more like another series of Bang Bang, and he said that they'd dearly love to do one, but that the BBC were unwilling to commission one. I promised to write several stern letters (the phrase 'stern letters' seemed to delight him) to the BBC to aid his cause.

I then asked him if I could take a photo, and he was only too pleased - and pulled a silly face for it too. I bade him farewell and good luck, and he reminded me to write stern letters. And with that, he was gone.

Well, to the train, anyway. He was walking in front of us with his wife Nancy Sorrell, trying to find the correct platform. He found the train, and that was the last I saw of him. We went to London, and met our clients. We're not rent boys. I don't know if I'd mentioned that before.

So who else is up for a stern letter?
( CaptainCrackerjack live trout, slow motion, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 14:30, 6 replies)

DiT, and the day Patriotism Died...
It was cold. So very, very cold. My breath fogged in the air as I cycled past Smithfields market on a freezing February evening in 2008. I had just purchased a shiny new red bicycle, I was riding it home, and all was good with the world. The market had closed for the evening, and there were still a few city workers straggling around the pubs and eateries that EC1 has to offer the world. Strangely, for this part of London, all seemed at peace and, I reflected, this was a wonderful city in a wonderful country.

That is, until the first police motorcycle shot past me at approximately 1,000 miles an hour, siren blaring (and if that wasn’t enough the rider was blowing on a whistle like his life depended on it). Screeching to a halt at a set of traffic lights, he continued blowing on his whistle for all he was worth while giving all sorts of hand gestures. The officer was stopping traffic with manic efficiency.

No sooner had this little mission been completed than a cavalcade of no less than seven police motorcyclists screamed past, each of them securing roads and blowing whistles and generally getting in the bloody way. “What’s this?” thought I, “Someone important approaches!” – never one to miss a signal, me. Carefully, I dismounted my bicycle, and stood to the side of the road. One, two, three Land Rovers with blacked-out windows sped past and then, emerging from the London night like a sleek, black Rolls Royce, came a sleek, black stretched Rolls Royce, travelling fairly slowly to negotiate the corner it was coming around.

And in the back seat of the Roller was a lady who looked very familiar. I had the oddest sensation that I’d licked her face on several hundred occasions, and that she tasted of glue. She was joined by an elderly chap who I was sure, if he had spoken to me, would have found some way to insult me. And then the penny dropped.

It was the bloody Queen.

The Queen! At Smithfields! And Phil was with her! And I’m stood right next to the car that is right now trying to get round the corner, with my new shiny red bike. What should I do? What should I do?

I’m afraid to say, dear reader, that I panicked. I didn’t display my behind, nor did I rush the car and start a revolution, nor did I flip the reigning Monarch the traditional ‘bird’. No. Somewhere, out of the deep recesses of my memory of my time in Air Cadets, came the idea that I am to respect and admire the Queen and so – and oh Lord is this shameful – I drew myself up to my full 5’ 7” (and a half, thank you so much), and I saluted. Long way up, short way down, eyes front. Respect.

What on earth did I think would happen? That Elizabeth Regina would call to her driver to “put the blady brakes orn”, leap out of the car and give me a knighthood plus land, a cash prize and a free go on Zara Phillips for being such a good, upstanding and patriotic citizen of the Empire?

Did she bollocks. Not a bloody flicker. I stood there, in the freezing cold of a February evening, saluting a woman and a man who were sat in the back seat of a stupidly long car by dint of coming out of the right womb, and they didn’t even look my way.

However, the people in the pub behind me were looking. And oh, how they laughed.

Thanks, your Majesty. Thanks a lot.
( Devil_In_Tights the *real* DiT!, Tue 13 Oct 2009, 14:21, 11 replies)