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Not meeting Laurel and Hardy

January 18, 2016

On this, Oliver Hardy’s birthday, I thought I’d reblog this post about the closest Conrad Brunstrom ever got to meeting him.



My Dad was not what you’d call a name dropper.  In the course of his long life he met some rather interesting people, and rather than pester them for a photo or an autograph he’d find some way to get the best long term anecdotal value out of the encounter.

But the most wonderful of my Dad’s brushes with greatness was, I think, a near miss.  There is something rather sublime (in a very exact and specific sense) about this (not) meeting that bears repetition.

My Dad was living in Rugby in the 1950s, and one evening he wandered into his local, to be met with an excited publican who exclaimed…

“You’ll never guess who was in here last night?”

“Who?” asked my Dad.

“Laurel and Hardy!” grinned the landlord.

“Laurel and Hardy?  What were they doing here?”

“They’re on tour.  They stayed overnight here on their way to Birmingham. …

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