Never in my lifetime. The search is endless. I’m still looking for somebody who can lace Gordon Smith’s boots.
Meanwhile . . . his son Tony, after two years in the compilation, has delivered Prince of Wingers, his biography well worthy of his dad, published last week.
There’s a launch on Thursday at the Stadium of Fright and a gaggle of worthies will be there.
I might slip in a stray bawl here and say that Tony’s tome would be excellent value for the pictures alone, most supplied by pictorial archivist Tom Wright.
Better, I suggest, if the launch had been delayed a couple of months to catch the Christmas market.
No bacon role
Own up, ladies. Particularly if you suspect that, before long, you suspect you’ll become prone to the dreaded obesity. You’re never going to be as skinny as Audrey Hepburn if she’s been your role model.
A new book reveals that at 16 in the German-occupied Netherlands she was reduced to eating tulip bulbs and trying to make bread from grass.
You couldn’t breakfast on that at Tiffany’s, so stay with that bacon buttie and latte and you might live longer than Ms Hepburn. She died at 63.
Afterwords . .
. . . people used to treasure his every word. Herewith a few from Tennessee Williams:’’We’re all of us guinea pigs in the laboratory of God. Humanity is just a work in progress.’’
Please God, don’t let these white-overalled eggheads in your laboratory create a pill that will take us anywhere near a hundred.