One day, back in 1978, I was crossing over to Jersey on a ferry and as we pulled out, there was another ferry pulling in - and on it, there was an old, drunk Orson Welles waiting to get off. Wine he was talking about - and he was completely plastered - and I only saw him for one second and he didn't see me at all - but I'll bet a month hasn't gone by since that I haven't thought of old, drunk Orson Welles.
