A great anecdote from Damon Rochefort.
RIP Peter Stringfellow.
I first met him when I was an 18 year old Law student, freshly arrived from Cardiff and lucky enough to have grabbed a gig as a roving cub reporter for ‘Blues & Soul’ magazine.
He’d opened the Hippodrome on Leicester Square, which was a huge deal at the time and I would often beg music biz friends to blag me into the ‘Star Bar’ there as there were always ACTUAL CELEBS present and I could write about them in my magazine column.
One night I was there, pestering Mel or Kim or possibly both when Peter himself walked in and being a cheeky twat at the time I showed off (probably trying to impress Ian Dewhirst) took the piss a bit , thinking my 18year old self was as sophisticated and urbane as it got.
Next day I got a call at home from a lady who said her job was to ‘empty Peter’s pockets’ of a morning and she’d found my name on a piece of paper with a little star next to it. She said this meant Peter wanted me to have a VIP card to the Hippodrome and where could she send it?
Needless to say that VIP card got quite the work out from my delighted 18 year old skint student self and I’ve never forgotten that act of kindness from a bloke who was on top of the world to a mouthy prick of a kid who had nowt.
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