Back when the Guardian used to spend a small fortune hosting champagne receptions, Nicholas Parsons attended one such soiree they threw at the Edinburgh TV Festival.
Ever the consummate professional, Parsons arrived early, was polite and well-mannered to the people serving him drinks, taking his coat, etc. The only moment where he made any sort of commotion was when he spotted a senior editor. Striding out across the room to shake their hand, he walked slap bang into a glass wall that he’d mistaken for thin air.
The sound of the collision could be heard above the music and put a stop to conversation.
With all eyes on him, Parsons cracked a gag, dusted himself off and continued on towards the editor. This time using the door. |