Richard Pulford

A great friend of mine died at the weekend.

Many of you will have known Richard, perhaps not by name, but as the elegant gentleman who would sit patiently on a chair in the shop in his Borsalino hat and gently sip on a lager and lime. Occasionally we would sit outside on the window ledge whilst he smoked a cigarette, sipped an espresso, and discuss his views on the world. Sometimes we agreed, more often than not in fact. Whatever I thought it was always a joy just to listen to him. Apparently he enjoyed the newsletters, but for once this isn’t about me. Although I’m sure, as always, he’d have a word or two to say about my punctuation. OK, this is the second version with fewer commas.

Richard had his views and wasn’t shy in sharing them. He was always a great friend and companion, often caustic in his wit, but unwavering in his loyalty. He was always there for a friend and I know that so many of you have been there for him.

Theatre had been his passion, his pleasure and his work and until recently was the Chief Executive of the Society of London Theatres. He retired to take things in a more relaxed fashion, or so he said, but he just took on new challenges to travel and to enjoy life. He always set remarkably high standards and his quest for a pair of jeans that would fit his sylph-like physique without alteration made us both cry with laughter before he let me  use the story for the March newsletter.

“Richard with his sylph-like physique stretches to a jean with a 26 inch waist. He can apparently buy these in Selfridges, either from Dior (so Richard), and Dsquared (so not Richard).

Their assistant was apparently just hangin’ in the department. I am unable to recount Richard’s story of trying on the Dsquared jeans as well as him. These were probably designed by MC Hammer, which once on, he was unable to get off over his feet, trying to stand up and holding on to a rotating rail, which apparently kept throwing him to the floor.

After an hour of struggle he removed the jeans he finally wandered off to Dior to purchase his bling.”

Recently he had started to send me text messages with little updates which was unlike him. Each time it would come through as an unknown number, each time I would save it under Richard’s name, only for the next to come through as unknown. In the end I gave up and stopped renaming them. The last thing Richard was, was unknown. I will miss him dearly.


Copyright © 2011 Adrian Holdsworth. All Rights Reserved.

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