I have to confess that some of my tales of the Coffee House might be a touch embellished for theatrical effect. What now follows is all the funnier for being the absolute truth. This is verbatim what happened. To set the scene, I have mounted on the wall a picture of Winston Churchill and amongst other bric-a-brac a one-pound note.
A jolly nice rather elderly lady popped in mid afternoon for some tea and a scone. As I have mentioned in the past I find old people interesting and we were fairly quiet so I gave her my best attention. We got along just fine until right at the very end when see asked me if I knew who she looked like. You will doubtless remember from Coffee and the Law part I that I suffer from prosopagnosia (and damned handy it can be at times) so I looked vacantly and told her that I had no idea. She told me to look at the picture on the wall, which I did before guessing “Winston Churchill?”. She was mortified and squealled “No, the pound note”. Then I saw it, damn she was a dead ringer for her Britanic Majesty Little Lizzy Windsor aka the Queen. God it really was uncanny. Now on a good day Winston looks like the arse end of a septagarian boxer dog so you can imagine how pissed she was. This was her one claim to fame and I blew it for her.
Onwards and downwards.
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