rARsh!

On second thoughts, maybe you should meet your heroes

Stupidly I put off heading into Jarrold’s book department until after 11:30. I didn’t want to be hanging around waiting for the great Mr Fry. Oh, how foolish that was. By the time arrived the queue stretched out of the book department and was winding up the stairs past the first floor (women’s wear) and heading up towards the second floor (furniture). I estimated that my position in the queue was well into three figures and Mr Fry was only scheduled to be in the department for an hour. I honestly expected not to get to meet him.

“Bloody hell!” exclaimed a passing old biddy. “I thought there were a lot of people here when Michael Palin was here.”

But ‘pon my soul, Mr Fry can sign! By the time I reached the desk (some sixty five minutes later, and forty five minutes after he arrived) he was still going strong and was even taking the time to have a few words with each and every buyer – with the person two in front he discussed the (mis)fortunes of his beloved Norwhag City, with the young lady in front of me he recognised an unusual surname, established that he taught her uncle at one point and asked her to give him his regards and in my chase asked what a Welshman was going in the dark depths of Norfolk.

I, of course, giggled like a schoolgirl and muttered something unintelligible, completely forgetting what I’d intended to say to him.

Leaving the store I noticed that the queue of eager Fryophiles was still snaking up the stairs towards the furniture department.

Next time I’ll aim to arrive an hour before the signing’s due to start.