ysobelle | And then there was the time... (Reply)

...I stood in a pub with Ian Dury, both of us laughing at the fact we were having a complete conversation without being able to understand half of what the other person was saying. His accent was so very thick-- Cockney, and very fast. I don't know what the hell he thought of my accent-- boring, I'd suppose. But we laughed. It was right after his play at the Royal Court. Emily was getting friendly with one of the actors, who'd-- no shit-- mimed, "You wanna get a drink after?" to her while still on stage, and her in the front row. Christ, that was a year. She wound up somewhere in the back of the pub with him, and I stood in another corner with the playwright-- Ian.

He was fabulous. Straight-ahead, no-bullshit, pain in the ass. He must've not yet been ill when we met, though he's been gone eight years now. God speed, Renaissance Punk.