Sorry, Cliff, for my chart-topping gaff

ARECENT story about the Beckhams visiting a small corner shop reminded me of a similar encounter which took place in the early Seventies. I can’t remember the exact year, but it must have been 1971 or 1972. It happened in the corner shop in a village just north of Potters Bar, Hertfordshire, called Little Heath. I was in my mid-20s and, as we shall see, old enough to have known better. I remember it was a Saturday morning, and I was in the shop buying something vital like cigarettes. There were also three or four local ladies there. In walked three likely lads, one of whom asked where he could get some logs for a planned barbecue. He had been told, apparently, that there was a possible source of supply in the vicinity. After conferring for a while, the ladies suggested he should go to another village, Cuffley, where the lads would find what they needed. As it happened this shop was right next to a builders’ timber yard, where there was plenty of wood, but not what they were looking for. However, nothing daunted, and wishing to be helpful, I piped up suggesting they could jump over the fence and help themselves. While I immediately regretted making such a crass suggestion, I was not prepared for the look of absolute horror on the faces of the ladies and the look of disgust from the would-be chef, who thanked the ladies and left the shop with his friends. I stood there wondering why on earth my comment, albeit rather stupid, had evoked such a reaction. ‘Do you know who that was?’ asked one the ladies. I had no idea of course, not having recognised him, but I was then enlightened. So it’s time, after all these years, to offer my profound apologies to Sir Cliff Richard, and hope his barbecue went well.

Phil Cragg, Bournemouth.