The Spector and the feast

I spent the weekend in Norfolk, the county of my later childhood. One of the hotspots I visited was Wells-Next-The Sea, and more specifically Nelsons Coffee Shop (no apostrophe – don't start me). Nelson himself – the admiral, the leader of men, the rumoured haunter of my primary school toilets – is kind of a big deal in Norfolk. But when I saw his image on the cover of the coffee shop menu, I could not think proudly of my forefather in the flatlands. I could only think of Phil Spector.

I like to think of the grainy image on the left not as a historical portrait, but as a preliminary sketch of the get-up Spector is planning for the time he makes parole.