Friday, 24 August 2012

Harry...... Remember George

Harry on the lash reminds me of the most famous story about George Best: the 5* hotel waiter, entering George's suite, and seeing George, the reigning Miss World and thousands of pounds of casino winnings, all tastefully arranged on a huge bed, simply asked: "George, where did it all go wrong?"


Sebastian Weetabix said...

I had dinner with George Best once (corporate entertainment thingy, I was lucky enough to be on the same table). He insisted the true story was it was the then current Miss World & 2 ex-Miss Worlds all entertaining each other and him, but his agent had ordered him to tone it down on the grounds that "there's a fine line between inspiring envious chuckles and straightfoward debauchery, George".

He was one of the funniest after-dinner speakers I ever heard and a wonderful conversationalist. He also gave off a sad air of just being a little bored with life and seemed a lot more intelligent than anyone in the press gave him credit for. Great guy.

The boy Hewitt on the other hand.... Hmm. What were the plods thinking? Why didn't they make people hand their phones in at the door?

Hospitable Scots Bachelor said...

I thought the comment was a rather redundant "Can I get you anything?"

Elby the Beserk said...


Best lived down the road from us when I was a kid. Met him a couple of time, and despite me telling him I supported City, he was very sweet - and quite shy it seemed.

Indeed, if City were too far away for me to go and watch them, I'd often pitch up in the away end at OT, to watch Best and jeer United :-)

George was something else. Hard as nails, he gave as good as he got from defenders, many of whom (Chopper Harris anyone?!) would not last five minutes on the pitch these days.

Happy days, and RIP Georgie Boy.

Nick Drew said...

they make you hand your phones in at a pub quiz !

I spent most of my fortune on booze, fast women, fast cars and slow horses ... the rest, I wasted

Scrobs... said...

"I'm opening a boutique" was a 'joke' from the sixties by John Cleese (impersonating him).

Unfortunately, I still say it when referring to some of these types...