Friday, August 24, 2007
One of my earliest brushes with disillusionment was when my mum & dad came back from the pub one Saturday night with John Noakes' autograph on an empty Player's No 6 packet.
He was supposed to be walking the Pennine Way at the time.
He was supposed to be sleeping in a tent with Shep. That's what the telly showed us - him, wet, cold and miserable, roughing it in the inhospitable, bleak moorland of the backbone of England. Not propping up bars and spending the night in the closest thing to luxury accommodation you could find in Yorkshire in the Seventies.
I think my mum felt as betrayed as I did. It became a staple family anecdote for years afterwards. "Remember that time we saw John Noakes in The Falcon?"
Given the chance, people will always let you down.
The Execution Of All Things - Rilo Kiley