At graduate school in England, I gave speeches to civic groups and I loved them all - one was meant to sing for ones supper, if you like. On a chilly Monday in February, 1978, at 1300 hrs, I was at The Royal Hotel, the Town of Deal, for just such an occasion - The Rotary Club’s very crowded weekly luncheon. As the club’s president began introducing me, three quarters of the attendees scampered from the room in a clatter of scraping chairs, a flurry of coats and hats and scarves. I was no big deal in Deal, but a week later, I was quite something in the Weald of Kent for reasons I now discuss.
© 2024 John Oliver
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