Elvis Presley would have been 86 today. I remember the day he died. I was drinking (legally, I might add, having recently turned 18) in the Welcome to Town pub in Bridgend, South Wales, where I grew up and went to school.
There was a boy in our class called William and he was Elvis-obsessed. I wasn’t the biggest fan of The King, but I remember willing him to live, as updates on the news came in (goodness knows how – probably on our portable radios).
When the death was announced, I cried – not for Elvis, but for William, who I knew would be distraught. He was. Devastated. We all stayed until closing time, mourning the loss.
I didn’t see William again from the time I left school to my 50th birthday in 2008. I found him on Friends Reunited (remember that?) and invited him to my party. To my surprise, he turned up.
I reminded him of the sad day when Elvis died and how I felt for him.
William had no recollection of ever having liked him or his music.
That’s show business!