A few years back, I was doing some research for the biography of one of my relatives. I was at my club one night when I happened to encounter a lady who featured in the book. A former fashion designer, she had worked with all the big names in the 1960s and had gone on to further success as a fashion editor and novelist. She'd had a lengthy affair with my great uncle, so this chance encounter was a great opportunity to glean some insights for the book.
As a somewhat frail lady in her late 70s, I wondered how best to approach her. After all it was pretty awkward for a complete stranger to ask her about an affair that had been quite emotionally draining and had ended badly. As I stood there and pondered just how to introduce myself, the manager of the club appeared. He asked if I had met the lady in question and, before I could even reply, he took my elbow and guided me over to make the introduction.
The manager introduced me as a relative of her former lover and explained that I had a biographical interest. She looked me up and down and said "Ah, Jimmy. I used to fuck him."
That reminds me of when working in a bar in Winchester we had one of the more venerable regulars come in looking a bit more grumpy than usual (dour Scot - possibly it is a natural look). After a while - a few sips into his first pint - the story came out. He was mugged while coming to the pub. We all felt huge sympathy for the muggers. This old (60's at least), quite small man had been in the French Foreign Legion for quite a number of years. The three muggers came away with two broken arms and a bust nose between them. The Dour Scot was grumpy because it made him late for the pub.
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