Hand of Rod

One of Chick Young’s justifications broadcast on Radio Scotland for Sevco receiving special treatment goes as follows (I’m paraphrasing here but I’m sure Chick will forgive any slight inaccuracies): “If you’re Rod Stewart and you phone a restaurant to make a booking the maitre’d gives you the best table in the place. If you’re John Smith you’re told, ‘sorry. we’re full.”

I phoned the Ritz that very afternoon and told them I was Rod Stewart. Sure enough, Chick was right. I was offered the best seat in the house.

Unfortunately, when I turned up and told them I was Rod Stewart the guy at the door knocked me back and told me to go to the end of the queue and wait my turn like everybody else.

This puzzled me a bit, since I had gone to a lot of effort to look like Rod Stewart, complete with skin-tight leopord print trousers and a silly haircut. The bouncer pointed out, to my dismay, that although I was wearing the same clothes as Rod, I was clearly not him, as Rod does not have an ear missing, an extra finger on his left hand and is considerably taller than four foot nine.

My final attempt to convince him – a rousing rendition of “You’re In My heart” – was rebuffed on the grounds that, according to the doorman, I sounded like a cat being neutered and “couldn’t carry a tune in a bucket.”

My point is do you think if I could get all my mates to constantly refer to me as Rod and act as if I was married to Penny Lancaster then eventually the doorman (and everybody else) might start to treat me like Rod and let me in to the restaurant ahead of the queue?

I hope you appreciate that I’m only doing this in the hope of proving Chick correct on this point of dubious morality.

Yours etc


(aka John Smith)

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