JRR and I arrived early on the Friday evening. We were escorted to our room by the hall porter who even carried our bags. Shame he hadn’t shaved and those trainers really didn’t go. Still, beats the normal rugby scrum when booking into The Risboro.
We met him later and discovered he was the owner. We were a choir of about 12 just then, so he bought us all a drink. The rest arrived and the round got a little larger than he expected. Mackie turned to me with a huge smile on his face, ‘Ee, I’ve just ordered these and barman’s give’m me for nowt.’
Guess what JRR falls asleep to? The Home Guard Manual 1941.
I ate breakfast on Saturday morning with Graham, Our Chairman. He finished before me and set off for his room. Five minutes later, I sauntered up to mine and bumped into him on one of the corridors, lost and more than a tad puzzled. It is a confusing place.
Two late arrivals. Rupert of course, looking for attention. Everyone ignored him. And Mark from Australia – impressive.
We were all shocked and concerned when Jack took his professional duties a little too far and tried to inspect the tyres on a moving vehicle. When he got up after his encounter we weren’t sure if he was wearing a check shirt or simply covered in tread of some kind. Some less kind observers suggested he may be unbalanced, and certainly he said himself he felt a little deflated and very tyred. He did recognise the culprit – a Goodyear 189-R. First Aid, of sorts, was on hand. Someone took his radial pulse and then, even though he was cross, plyed with a cup of tea. Despite being somewhat run down a nice piece of music cheered him up – ‘middle-of-the-road’ of course. On return from Llandudno, brave Jack revisited the site of the incident and was able to retread his route. So, if you run into Jack, remember to wish him well – after all, where would we be without our very own whipper-in? Jeff Gill reports.
(ed – they broke the mould when they made Jack)