Back in 1980-81 I was a teenager tearaway in Northampton and one evening I ended up at a pub called the Spencer Arms with my mate Malcolm - totally by chance, it wasn’t a regular watering hole of ours. We were enjoying a quiet pint when a lad I knew came into the bar and said “Hey Simon, Mike Hailwood’s in the lounge”
“Feck off, really?”
“Yeah, honestly”
Mac and I promptly headed to the lounge door where a big geezer in a penguin suit told us “you can’t come in here dressed like that”
“Bollocks mate, Mike the Bike’s in here” and sure enough he was, having just performed a speaking engagement and was chatting to a bloke at the bar. We waited politely and at an appropriate moment said “Excuse me Mike, could you sign our jackets please?” and he obligingly autographed our denim cut-offs with my marker pen. We then left him in peace, a proper gent and stellar talent so cruelly taken from us shortly afterwards.
