An imaginary account of a meeting between an ordinary and a famous person in which it is embarrassingly obvious that the writer is making much of a very small experience
Once I met John, you know – John Prescott, Deputy Prime Minister and Secretary of State for the Environment, Transport and the Regions. He came down to my seafront flat at Lee-on-the-Solent; well, not exactly to my flat, but virtually next door to the Coastguard building. It was being taken over by the Marine and Maritime Agency, which was why he was there. He was standing on the grass with several others looking out to sea.
‘Hello John,’ I said, walking right up to him. ‘I’m Alan Millard, Letters page? Lee Journal? I could see he recognised me straight away. He’d probably read all the letters I’d written to the local freebee about kids cycling where they shouldn’t and cars parked on pavements. I think he was too overcome to speak, but I couldn’t stop to talk. We’re both busy people and there’s sure to be another time.
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