GIOVANNI RUSSO AND THE BLACK LION AT ST ALBANS.

In 1997 I lost my father and brother within a few weeks of each other - dad died in August and Phil in November. My poor mum was beside herself with grief and I'm sure never really recovered. I did my best to try to support her through what was the most terrible time of her life, even though she'd also had to live through the London Blitz but, in an unusual way, I had help from an unexpected source.

We started going to a local pub / restaurant which mum and dad had frequented but never done more than had an occasional drink. Whenever I visited, which was every 2 or 3 weeks for several days, we would go for a drink and then we started going for a meal on a Friday or Saturday evening. This was at the 'Black Lion' in St Albans, an ancient inn which then was a well known local pub, hotel and eating house. The restaurant was run on a leased basis by Giovanni Russo and was a delight; the food was terrific, Giovanni was always open to suggestions about his offerings, the staff were marvellous and, most importantly, mum was treated like royalty.

We had so many wonderful evenings there, which was exactly what mum needed. Whatever we wanted was never any trouble, there was live music and, in a tiny space, even occasional 'dancing in the aisles'. Giovanni, whom most called John, was a wonderful, loud Italian who ran a superb restaurant but, most importantly, cared for his customers.

Giovanni had a fractious relationship with the owners of the pub and eventually left around 2005, starting up another small restaurant not far away; it wasn't the same, though, and never could be. Sadly the venture didn't last very long as Giovanni was diagnosed with terminal cancer and died not too long after mum, who left me in 2008.

The point of this story is really to say my thanks to Giovanni, even though he's no longer around. He treated my mum as if she was the Queen, as did his staff; I remember Tony and Marco well, and the shy chef whose name escapes me but who cooked our meals to perfection. There were the musicians who played the keyboard, usually Benny but sometimes another whose name is also now lost to me, both of whom were so friendly and so kind.

If I could have my life over again, I would demand that those years at the 'Black Lion' be repeated. They were wonderful and Giovanni's kindness and attentiveness to my mum will be in my thoughts until my dying day. He was one of the unsung heroes of my life.