Every week I write and article for the Euro Weekly News, an English-speaking newspaper covering all the major resorts of Spain and the Balearics. You can pick up a copy on a Thursday ... or read it here every week. |
Thursday 23 August 2007
Last week, I began recounting the facts leading to my well publicised incarceration in the early seventies. My reasons for this were basically to set the record straight and also give my side of an event which in the past had only been scribed publicly by Diana Dors and consequently biased by her own circumstances at the time. I ended the piece last week by describing how Dors, after a Sunday lunch at her Sunningdale home, was endeavouring to have me accompany her somewhat inebriated husband Lake for a drink and a game of darts at a local pub....... In the end, after constant badgering, I reluctantly agreed. Heaving myself up from the chair, I slowly accompanied Lake (by now becoming extremely loud) down the short lane to the handily situated Red Lion pub. The pub was actually run by two friends of mine, Mick and Maria, so at least I could look forward to seeing them again. We entered the public bar. A couple of people were engaged in a game of darts and a few others were gathered around the bar area - all in all a typical early Sunday evening scenario. I looked around for Mick or Maria, but observed only a completely unfamiliar couple tending the bar. As we claimed a corner table, Lake explained the couple were a temporary landlord and his wife, who were looking after the pub while the resident landlords were on holiday. Lake then stood and went over to get the drinks. As he walked past the darts players his loudness once more began to manifest itself. Greeting them in his usual noisy exaggerated 'actor' tones, accompanied by none too gentle slaps on the back, he then felt in his pocket and produced what turned out to be a vicious-looking pocket knife. With cries of 'double top luvvies' he then proceeded to throw it at the dartboard. I sank back even further into my seat. After two or three throws Lake pocketed the knife and noisily approached the bar, immediately calling for the landlord in his now all too familiar loud, overbearing tones. I vaguely observed the barman subsequently appearing to serve his order. Lake then walked back to the table, deposited my half of lager with a loud 'here you are, luvvy' and returned to the bar, presumably to collect his own drink and pay. Between dozily watching the darts and observing Lake from the corner of my eye, I began to realise that some sort of problem appeared to be developing at the bar. The barman had begun to raise his voice to Lake. I observed Lake lean across the bar and begin to hurl verbal back at him. I also noticed four or five rather rough-looking youths who had been talking to the landlord at the end of the bar begin to move in toward Lake. 'Gawd,' I sighed inwardly. 'Why in Heaven's name did I agree to come here at all?' I was now faced with two choices; either to walk out and call on Lake to come with me, or go over and try to help sort it out at the bar. Not thinking as clearly as I should have - hardly surprising after the last few months - I chose the latter - a decision that was to cost me dear. By the time I reached the group, the mood had become decidedly threatening. The shouting had intensified and the youths were closing in around Lake. Easing my way through the increasingly irate throng I managed to reach Lake's side at the bar. Before I even had a chance to ask what the problem was, the landlord's wife suddenly burst through from the saloon bar where she had been serving. Her face contorted with rage and waving her arms in the air she rushed toward her husband: "Get these f...ing actors out of my bar," she screamed. "I want them out, now!" And that's about it for another seven. Have a great week. Keep a spring in yer step and, whatever you do, always keep the faith. Love Leapy |
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