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I know someone, no names no packdrills, who was on holiday in Majorca with George Best in the '60s'. This friend of mine, let us call him 'Bosco' was an ex sporting hero of the minor variety, but known well enough to be recognised by the uber sporting hero, 'Georgy'
My friend, Bosco, accompanied by his leggy Kensington blonde girlfriend, (another minor celebrity) would be recognised by the mega star and invited to join the group.
One afternoon he was summoned to join George and Mike to
debate how they were going to handle this proposed rumble by the Swedish crew in the next Magaluf hotel. It seemed George had 'taken' one of their girl friends, or that might have been 'all' of their girl friends. Bosco, although as able as the best of them was terrified.
Bosco now watched as a pack of muscled Swedes strolled up the beach towards them. Fuck, he thought, 'I don't fancy this one bit'.
Bosco could see some of the Swedes were holding something in their hands. Shit.
And then they were around George, offering the paper, envelopes in their hands, pens at the ready and Georgy was signing away and laughing and the girlfriends strolled up now and gathered round to look at him. Just to look at him. Just gawp and gape at 'Georgy boy'.
Oh George.
Then one night they were all going into the centre of Majorca to the Old Town, and George said to Bosco, "...why don't you go ahead and I will stay and look after, Judi". Bosco, looked at him, the glint in George's eye spoke reams.
Oh George, was so fit then, how he would flick pesetas from his toes to his breast jacket pocket. He was in his prime, was 'Georgy boy'.
So why was it not more than a few years later, Bosco, would sit with George in a London nightclub, Tramps, and just drink all night, drink after drink after drink till 2 am and 3am and was it 4am? Who gives a fuck.
"Come on, come on lads, the place is closing."
And soon after...not long after...
Oh 'Georgy boy', why did you have to drink so?
I remember you well, Dr George Best.
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