There is an old saying cautioning about never meeting your heroes, but I am here to tell you to disregard such time-worn tropes.
Because guess what?! I recently met one of mine, and I have to report to you that he was nothing but gracious and lovely!
Who was this paragon of good manners? Read below for the full story.
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One recent sunny English afternoon, Mr Maximalista and I were spending a few delightful hours with Mummy Dearest and Mr Mummy Dearest, meandering around Belvoir Castle & Gardens in Leicestershire. As you do. Breathing the same rarified air as the hobnobs, if not exactly hobnobbing with them.
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Anyhoo. We entered through the main stone portico of the castle, greeted with much bustle from one of the posh docents, who politely asked us to hurry through the hall, because they were expecting some Important American guests.
At first, I thought she must have not recognised Mr Maximalista, who is, as you know, an American… he is to me the most important American man in the world. Not to forget that I, too, am a proud dual British-US Citizen?
But apparently the docent was referring to OTHER Americans of MORE importance; ergo, my modest party and I were hustled up the stairs, scurrying out of view like the unimportant peasants that we are.
As I got to the top of the stairs, a rather red-faced gent in plus-fours came barreling around the corner, almost tripping over the velvet rope blocking off the hallway. In extremely plummy tones, he said — and I quote — “oh, facking hell! I forgot that bladdy thing was there!” Then strode off.
May I introduce you to His Grace, the Duke of Rutland!
Being quite a sweary individual myself, I was not at all offended by the profanity, and am still having a jolly good chuckle at our bemusing meeting!
However, His Grace is not the object of my fan-girling, referred to in the intro above. This unexpected event occurred at the end of my visit, when my party and I were taking our tiffin in the Aviary Tea Room.
The scene is thus set when I noticed a very dashing-looking fellow enter the aviary. My toasted buttered tea-cake paused, mid-air to my mouth: were my old lady eyes deceiving me?!
Of all the gin joints, surely that WASN’T… Martyn Lawrence Bullard?! Of Interior Design célèbre? Author of hallowed tomes such as Live, Love, Decorate, and Design and Decoration?
Indeed it was!! And after ten minutes of dithering, should-I-or-shoudn’t-I? I plucked up the courage to approach him.
Now, those of you who know me will know that whilst I have introverted tendencies, I am by no means a shrinking violet. Yet, when faced with greatness of the Martyn Lawrence Bullard variety, I felt overwhelming awe, which was rather mortifying.
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Here follows, verbatim, a faithful snippet of our conversation.
English Maximalista: Excuse me, please? [smiling shyly] Is your name Martyn?
Martyn Lawrence Bullard: [smiling back] yes, it is!
English Maximalista: Please may I shake your hand?
MLB: Yes, of course! [takes my hand]
English Maximalista: It is an honour to meet you. I am a big fan.
MLB: Oh, thank you! What is your name?
English Maximalista: …..???
I HAD ONLY FORGOTTEN MY OWN DANG NAME!!!!
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Short story shorter, after some mild embarrassment on my part, I bucked-up enough to converse and comport myself accordingly.
Martyn and I — obviously now on first name terms — went on to make polite social chitchat for the happiest >90 seconds of my ENTIRE life. After which, I thanked him for being so gracious, and absented myself with as much dignity as I could muster.
On returning to my table, my only thought was that I might never wash my hands again! (Spoiler alert: I eventually did.)
*****
Later that evening at my father’s house, when Mr Maximalista and I headed up to bed, he remarked that I was still beaming from ear to ear, after meeting Martyn!
Thank you, Martyn Lawrence Bullard. You are a true gentleman. Additional gratitude to you (as well as His Grace) for gifting me with a story to regale at dinner parties for the rest of my life.
Lots of love,
M xo
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