I caught up with the great lost UK podcaster earlier today, Micky Boyd. With the café undergoing its refit and not reopening until Sunday (a partial glimpse of the work last night has left me anxious my favourite corner spot has been done away with), Micky and I went to one of his regular haunts. The coffee there was too strong for me (as indeed it was the last time we went there) and my old friend, looking very trim, quickly spotted my bad coffee face. While my range of facial expressions are severely limited, the one thing my features can produce is a bad coffee face. And this was bad coffee.
We hadn’t seen each other since the summer when I was on crutches and Micky was kindly driving me around. After a couple of days spent trying to explain to my aunt Spanish Kanu, who ‘officially’ turns 80 next week, what asbestos is and why workmen are descending on her block to remove said asbestos, it was good to catch up with Micky. We chatted about our shared love of Sherlock Holmes, my 79-year-old uncle being fist bumped by his fellow horse racing fans in the local bookies, and the fragility of the Sainsbury’s own cracker which breaks up at the slightest contact.
There is no real point to this particular post. Micky was just keen to have this picture of him up on the website and I was unable to come up with a more interesting post to justify posting this picture of the mid-eighties school sprint champion.