The University of Portsmouth is a grand institution. There are many buildings of many sizes, and a wide staff of wonderful and great people. One such lecturer, who I’m sure has legends based around him, is Steven O’Brien. A grand person, waistcoat and all, who couldn’t know more about writing if you stuffed a dictionary into his head.
I was just leaving King Henry Building. The building doesn’t matter, what matters is the door. As I opened the door to leave, I turned around. At the other end of the room, heading towards the door, was Steven O’Brien. The distance was far enough for me to debate whether or not to leave, and let the door swing closed in his face. But I couldn’t do that, especially not after we’d made eye contact.
He took a step towards the door. I smiled. He took another step. He smiled. Another step. We were both smiling. Another step. My arm was aching, just a little bit. Another step. He was almost there. He took one final step.
And then, at the very last moment, he turned left, and went through a completely different door.
He must have thought I was just a fan wanting an autograph (which I kind of am), frozen in place by his greatness. It’s times like this when I wonder, is there such a thing as being too polite?
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