Always amusing to see a man of a certain age dressed in fancy dress in public. One month it’s dear old Max Moseley, the next Friends of the Toxic Waste on Queens Rd. They were protesting about Bio Fuels and thought the countryside should be used to produce food with prices constantly rising. Having topped up my diesel tank with 40 litres of Sunflower oil, that I had photographed recently, I was thrilled to travel about 60 miles for nothing. Bring on the Bio Fuels I say.
9 comments:
That gorilla has seriously saggy breasts, and a few years past would have benefitted from the ministrations of the former Mrs F-A who once occupied the shop seen over his left shoulder. Of course, the gorilla might actually BE the former Mrs F-A.............
I see what you mean Affer. There is a striking resemblence now you come to mention it.
THAT explains it. I thought the mobile chip van had arrived in the village, and I rushed out of the door with my pudding basins and....nothing. Just the bleating of sheep opposite and a thin skein of burnt-potato smelling smoke drifting over the laurel hedges.
Anyone remember 'Morgan: Suitable Case For Treatment'? Very funny film in its day. Terrific gorilla costume moment. Only saw it once; remember I laughed so hard I fell off the sofa.
Who played Morgan? Clue: He was in Tom Jones and The Omen.
David Warner?
Fred, I knew you'd know. I used to get him mixed up with Nichol Williamson, an aberration that didn't stand me in good stead with the latter in the Windsor Castle in Kensington one lunchtime.
Which leads me neatly to one of my favourite theatrical anecdotes.
Joss Acland, at the peak of his telly fame a few years ago, was travelling in to town on the tube. As usual, he was wearing his Fedora, long scarf and overcoat. Sitting next to him was a young man, who clearly recognised the great actor, and tried desperately to make eye contact.
'You're, you're, ooh, you're... You're that bloke aren't you? That bloke, off the telly? Oh, what's your name...don't tell me, don't tell me, I'll get it, just give me a minute.' This continued, much to Acland's embarrassment, for some time, until, wishing to put the chap out of his misery, Acland said: 'I'm Joss Acland'. To which the young man, his head slowly shaking from side to side, lost in concentration, replied: 'Nah, that's not it. You're not him'.
Malcom Allison was partial to a fedora. He wasn't Joss Acland either.
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