Meeting Edgar Broughton

The following is an account of true events: the names of those involved have been changed (including the dog’s).

My introduction to the Great Edgar Broughton started in a pub said to have once been frequented by highwayman Dick Turpin.

Aged fourteen, me and a couple of mates found we could get served in the Schooner, located—though no longer there—where Streatham High Road meets Hermitage Lane.

Continue reading

Old Hat

I did something the other night not done in an age; socialised with friends. Then I did something never done before ever: forgot my hat. Once, I didn’t even like hats; though that’s another story, for that it was a hat is neither here nor there; the point being, I’d hitherto never lost or mislaid an item of personal attire. Some thoughts on the grim calamity:

Continue reading

Banned from the Pubs

In the early 90s I worked London’s markets; the following is an account of true events (continued from: Geezers and Goldfish Bowls):

Gotta wonder what kinda image ‘workingmen’s club’ conjures for anyone without a clue.

Almost unique to the U.K. (apart from a couple in Australia and Ireland; at least according to Wikipedia [though citation needed apparently]) they’re private clubs with committees, rules and membership.

Continue reading