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Had a mate who lived in Reading who would regularly go up to London on his day off because he knew George would be in the pub all day and would chat football to anyone who'd buy him drinks. Profoundly depressing.
Also worked for the insurance company who insured his health AFTER his liver transplant. Underwriters had paroxysms, but the Directors said it was worth it for the business he brought in.
We named our capital city's airport after that wifebeating drunk.
kl-
When I lived in Chelsea I'd watch the football in the Phene Arms, it was over the road from George's house so of course he was always in there... I used to love watching the game sitting opposite him, his punditry was great... Of course he was a complete drunk, his wife would come and drag him out at closing time on the regular... A sad, sick old man...
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We named our capital city's airport after that wifebeating drunk.
Kind of, we tacked a few extra neon tubes on to the existing sign so it could be easily backed out of when the inevitable posthumous cancellation comes about.
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stevo_com
This has reminded me of the morning I was walking down Portobello Road and came upon Van the Man in a dirty, ill fitting, cheap suit, a vest and a pair of very old shoes... He looked like a brickie who'd just woken up in the pub and was on his way home...
That in turn reminded me of the Saturday morning I witnessed George Best, pissed as a fart, falling out of a cab and going straight into the Wellesley Arms at opening time... Bit depressing on both counts, alcohol makes you do strange things...