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Don't I Know You?


Today I walked past Richard Herring in my local garage, marking the first time I’ve seen him outside of a gig since he moved to the area.

It’s funny, as Glyn and I asked him only last week how he’d got on since moving this way, with both of us privately remarking how we hadn’t spotted him at all since he’s been nearby, which was surprising considering he apparently often comes to Hitchin to shop with his wife (and not for one) Spin forward a few days and I’m practically bumping into him in my local shop; it’s a good job we didn’t start wrestling over the last pint of milk.

I didn’t say hello, purely because he walked through the door at the precise moment I was leaving, with barely time to do a double-take before the chance had gone. It was ironic really, as I was just thinking I hadn’t sent him an email to thank him for last week’s gig and there he was, like I’d performed some kind of modern-day stand-up-based Bloody Mary witchcraft to make him appear like an incantation.

I decided soonafter to send him the thank you message, mentioning I’d seen him in the garage and so had decided to “contact him at the time when it was weirdest”. It turned out he hadn’t seen me, but he seemed to appreciate the missed moment; he can now rest safe in the knowledge he shares the spotlight with a catalogue of well-known faces I’ve spotted in my time in that building, including Pixie Lott, Frankie Dettori and the frontman from Feeder; my local garage is a hive of celeb activity. 
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