Sunday, July 19, 2009

I saw Welsh celebrities!

I completely forgot to report two not at all exciting sightings of famous Welshmen in my last two outings - I shall have to become a paparazzo.

At last week's International Food Festival it was Wales's premiere thespian and seeming heir to the Burt's throne of an unfortunate personal life: Rhys Ifans. He swaggered (so I thought) into a Chinese restaurant and was heartily shaking the hand of the receptionist. I can't report on his state but D swore he was as drunk as a loon. I don't care, I hope he's happy.

Then yesterday in Penarth's main drag one of our fabulous rugbyistes with a nice but of synchronicity. I was coming out of a shop after buying my lottery ticket and having a quick read of the South Wales Echo on the stand at the door. The front page reported that Wales, Ospreys and Lions scrum half Mike Phillips had been arrested in Cardiff after a dispute over a taxi (such things are not uncommon it must be said, I'm sure the Welsh management would love it if all their players swore only to go out in England. Me, I'm quite glad that such heroes are still out and about with their flocks; even if they're fighting over taxis with them). I was distracted by the arrival of a very glamorous young woman at my shoulder, who started flicking through the Western Mail and laughing to her companion, who, on exiting the shop I spotted was said Mike Phillips - looking, as all professional athletes I've ever encountered do, enormously and glowingly fit and healthy and not at all perturbed by any arrest or scandal. I can report that he then headed in Gregg's the bakers, while his companion remained being glamorous in the street.

This is my second celebrity/apposite newspaper story encounter. The first was in Highgate Village in north London (I was only visiting with a friend on our way to see Karl Marx's enormous stone head, I certainly could never afford to live there), we were sat in a pub with The Observer on the table, the magazine of which featured a portrait of the Kinks' Dave Davies, when who should walk in but the Kinks' Dave Davies. I wonder if our double-taking stare at paper, stare at the Kinks' Dave Davies, stare at paper, stare at each other with open jaws routine had anything to do with his decision to use the gents and flee? I still wish I'd asked him to sign it, I'm a big Kinks fan, but was probably on the wrong side of the hungover, drunk equation that was my permanent lot in life then.


delcatto said...

I used to live in Highgate - cheap flatshare with three others (one of whom was Tracey Chevalier the author). You couldn't go out the door without tripping over celebrities. Proper ones, not the over promoted soap and reality wannabes.
Despite growing up around the corner from the Kinks studio in Hornsey I sadly never met any of them.

The Drinker said...

I wasn't that far off, in Muswell Hill, where I can report sightings of Roland Rivron in the offie, Tony Hadley driving a rather battered classic Saab and Tucker Jenkins! I used to drink in the Archway Tavern occasionaly, which I think is on the cover of Muswell Hillbillies. Doesn't Sting live in Highgate Village? Never saw him though. God, sorry, this is getting a bit pathetic innit, so finally... seen Manic Street singer James Dean Bradfield in Cardiff Bay and the guy with the sideburns out of the flying pickets, who's in a Welsh show called Sattelite City (I think) regularly in a rather down at heel local pub and, most excitingly for me, JPR Williams at the Eisteddfor last year. Phew. Glitterati innit.