Family legend has it that back in the day, in Old Montreal, my Auntie worked in a popular side walk cafe frequented by the intellectual University crowd. One fine summer a homely young man came and sat at her table, chatted they did. Kabitzed they did. A girl knows when she is being hit on even if she has been brought up in a sheltered religious home.
Day after day this young man came and had a beverage or a meal. Finally she took him up on his offer to join him for a meal elsewhere. While he was nothing that she would dare bring home to her Mamma or Daddy, he was rather sweet and very much a gentleman who miraculously grew less homely with every meeting.
The result of this fairly tale romance? Absolutely nothing, no sparks, no lecherous tales of being jumped in the car, no out of hand behaviour with drugs, no drunkenness, no gossip, just a couple of hours with a nice, funny guy whom my Auntie was told was a bit of a singer.
This was that man:
I would just like to say that Mr. Cocker is awful y lucky he wasn't born in today's age as his swaying back and forth and hand flapping would have been reason for interested parties to have him diagnosed , medicated and subject to brain repatterneing for Aspergers syndrome.
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