‘Bro, Bro, Bro’

Yesterday I dismounted the X3 at St Aldate’s and hastened toward Oriel, where in a half hour I would meet a guest for lunch. As I turned the corner into Blue Boar, I heard someone shouting after me: ‘Bro, Bro, Bro, I need…’ to which I half-turned and waved and called, ‘Sorry, I’m on my way to meet someone.’
‘No, bro, bro, bro, bro, no, hang on, wait a minute…’
‘I’m on my way to meet a guest.’
‘Bro, bro, bro, I need one [unintelligible]…’
I turned and shrugged. ‘I need to keep going…’
‘No, but bro, I need one picture. One picture, bro!’
I was a bit perplexed, but it seemed an innocuous enough request. When he caught up with me and was lining up a selfie (before he imposed on a passing pedestrian to take the photo) I realised that he wanted a photo with himself and an academic priest with longish grey hair and a beard, who was wearing all black, with an overcoat, umbrella, and Homburg.

If you know this gentleman, tell him he’s welcome.

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