Russell Brand Admires My Beard

Well he glanced at it, that was enough. Russell Brand is very striking in the flesh, as he stood there chatting (I imagine he spends almost all the time chatting; it must be very exhausting to leave the house)  by the bread in the Albion. The Albion, Redchurch St, the Bond St of the new East, and there he stood, like a rather obtrusive and very slinky cat, chatting to somebody he clearly hadn't met before but who very much wanted to meet him. I like Russell Brand, I like what he says and the way that he says it (although I would never wish to be caught in possession of My Bookiwookie or My Bookiewookie 2 or any number of Bookiewookies) we are even going to see him do something called 'The People's Question Time' in York Hall (10th Oct) which I assume is his preparation for running for Parliament, or even Prime Minister.
I was just getting some vastly overpriced bread as usual, and had just left the White Horse opposite, (which I do regularly to prepare myself for the ordeal of the bread buying) and within seconds I was kicking myself. Because; if there was one thing that would have made the day of Bryany and Kerry Gold and Foxy and Ruby and Natahlia and Jesse that afternoon it would have been if I had introduced myself to Mr Brand and offered him a mineral water and we had retraced my steps to the hallowed ground and I had been able to say 'Just look what I've dragged in' and presented him to no doubt squeals of delight. In not sure celebrities get much of a chance to mingle in such a way, what with George Clooney closing Venice for the day and so on, and it seems inevitable that they are pestered by twats: how much Russell might have enjoyed a bit of chitter chatter with some real dancers as, or just before, they took they clothes off. That's what you call a missed opportunity all round.

(Above: The White Horse as it was before the pole and the twenty first century. Photo by me)