I was upset to hear about the death of John Tighe this week. John was the landlord of The Spotted Dog in Birmingham. He had supported me on many occasions with my filmmaking. We shot The Confusion of Tongues there, we hosted Ted Hope & Christine Vachon there, we even painted snails there for Crushing Snails. Basically, he would help if I needed it, and he never asked anything for it.
I don’t have any photos of John. We didn’t really have that kind of friendship. It wasn’t based on selfies or fun snaps. I was a patron of the pub throughout most of my time in Birmingham and I’d enjoy his straight talking no-bullshit approach to life. I’d bring numerous couch surfers there to enjoy the ambience, especially on the Jazz nights hosted by Mike Fletcher. I even met my wife Bee in his pub during the Olympic Ceremony in 2012.
In recent years we drifted, largely as a result of moving from Birmingham to Bournemouth. I saw him once the night before I sat my PhD viva. I popped down to the Dog for old times sake and we caught up briefly. I wrote to him after I saw a viral article in the Daily Mail that showed the pub being busted during the Covid pandemic. I offered to host a screening of The Confusion of Tongues to a crowd there once the pub reopened to raise some money to pay the fine. He never replied. Most recently there were press headlines about his inappropriate behaviour. He was to stand in a criminal trial in 2026, but died of lung cancer aged 78 before it ever came to court.
John was a difficult and complicated man. He was outspoken, contrary and didn’t suffer fools at all. I really respected those traits, even though I can see why others found them abhorrent. Like Ewen, who we also lost recently, I regret that we didn’t have a chance to reconnect in recent times.
