Preview: Sir John

One morning, decades after being separated at birth from my long-lost twin, I decided to look him up. Knowing he was English, off I toddled across the pond to Albion’s shore. Visibility over the Marmalade Hills was bloody awful, but I knew by my watch, and by a feeling of exaltation, that a sacred ritual was in progress: Breakfast was being served.

Breakfast Island

Why look up the chap? It was important for me to know if he had become a semblance of Beatle John Lennon and/or Sidney Poitier in To Sir, With Love. In other words, how much was John a man of his time, with tastes common to Brits at the beginning of the 2nd Elizabethan reign jolly well ingrained in him?

Upon making my blood brother’s acquaintance, I could see that he had time on his hands. Yet when I asked point-blank what he did for a living, he replied as cool as you please:

“Earning a knighthood.”

Boy Golfer, British Pathé (1960)
Breakfast Island, Cyril Phillips (1953)