Now Then, Now Then...

I learned today of the death of a truly important national asset. A man who's entertained and amused the populace without ever really intending to. A man whose dress sense might be likened to that of a drunken chimpanzee running naked through TK-Max covered in glue.

Fear not, Dear Reader, the Duke of Edinburgh is still alive. I'm talking of the irreplaceable Sir Jimmy Savile.

If I had a pound sterling for every letter I wrote to Jim'll Fix It I'd be....err....a bit better of than I am now (by about six quid), but my point is that Sir Jim did all the things mentioned in my first paragraph and became a fixture in the lives of those of us that are now in the middle aged bracket.
Say whatever you like about the man but he was a character.

I'm reminded of an evening in the month of June, sometime in the late nineties (I can't remember the exact year.) I was walking the West Highland Way with two pals and had arrived at the Kingshouse Hotel. We pitched out tents in the field outside and headed into the bar for a beer and some scoff. We plotted ourselves up in the scummy 'walkers bar' and got properly on it.

As the night wore on and the beer flowed we heard a mention that Sir Jim was in the main bar. This came as no surprise to uis because we'd seen the jingly, jangly, comb-overed, kiddy botherer on Louis Theroux and knew he was a regular in the Kingshouse Hotel due to having a gaff down the road (and ownership of a mountain if he was to be believed).
So we kicked a bit of the mud off our boots and headed through into the main bar to see if Jim could fix it.

As we walked through the door we saw this little fella at the bar in a black, shiny shell suit. He had the obligatory jingle, jangle jewellery and shock of dyed blonde hair. He was accompanied by about half a dozen hangers on who laughed at his jokes and bought him lemonade.

It really was Sir Jim.

'Alright, Jimmy,' my mate said.

'Hello young man,' said the Fix It man.

And so began an hour of us taking the piss out of a man that the Queen had seen fit upon which to bestow a Knighthood.

I'm sorry.

I'm also sorry that after Jim left the bar we carried on drinking and remembered from Louis Theroux's programme that he routinely slept outside the establishment in his camper van.

I'm even more sorry that we located said camper van in the car park and stood either side of it, rocking it and shouting 'Now then, now then...jingle jangle..'

I'll never get the opportunity to apologise to Sir Jimin person so I'm hoping this blogged apology might suffice.

I guess it's close but it's no cigar.

Laters.