I am welcomed by the Mayor of Southampton.
I stand bewildered, twirling my thumbs, quite at a loss as to what is expected of me.
The mayor begins. I have been warned that it is going to be very formal.
"Mr. Chaplin, on behalf of the citizens of Southampton—"
Nothing like I had anticipated. I am trying to think. Trying to hear precisely what he says. I think I have him so far. But it is nothing like I had anticipated. My speech doesn't seem to fit what he is saying. I can't help it. I will use it anyhow, at least as much as I can recall.
It is over. I mumble some inane appreciation. Nothing like I had written, with nary a gesture so laboriously rehearsed.
There comes interruptions of excited mothers with their children.
"This is my little girl."
I am shaking hands mechanically with everybody. From all sides autograph albums are being shoved under my nose. Carl is warding them off, protecting me as much as possible.
I am aware that the mayor is still standing there. I am trying to think of something more to say. All visions of language seem to have left me. I find myself mumbling. "This is nice of you" and "I am very glad to meet you all."