David Bowie sold me a raffle ticket
I’ve always said that meeting your favourite stars is something I’ve never really been bothered about. I think you set yourself up for disappointment if you think any different.
Mostly, I like stories of people meeting famous people in ordinary circumstances, like “Jim Bowen nicked my parking space at Asda”, or “Penelope Keith asked me where I’d bought my cardigan”, or “Angela Rippon complained about the noise we were making in our cabin on a cross channel ferry”.
Still, in my life, it appears that I have met quite a few famous people. I thought I’d list some of them for you for a laugh. They are all true.
Christopher Lee gave me a kiss on the cheek. I was four years old and he was playing in a celebrity golf tournament in St Andrews and my mum took me up to meet him. Lee was most famous for his Dracula movies at the time. I remember nothing of the meeting. Apparently he remembers every second.
Ben Kingsley smiled at me at a dinner function. I walked past Ben and checked him out. He said, “Hello” in a, and I’ll be honest with you here, quite flirty way. Effectively, I could have had him. But didn’t. That would be wrong. He’s Ghandi for fuck’s sake!
Fine Young Cannibal, Roland Gift held a door open for me in a hotel. And this was when the Fine Young Cannibals were going strong, so it was quite a big deal at the time. He was, as they say in the streets, “well fit” actually. He was wearing all black and had a good bum. What’s he doing now, I wonder?
I was in a lift with Nastassja Kinski. I was working at a film awards thing and I took the hotel lift downstairs. In the same lift was Nastassja, who was panicking about heaps of press being outside. Tempted to remind her that “Tess of the d’Urbervilles was a long time ago, love”, I restrained myself and thought only how much of a little girl she seemed, even though she must’ve been about 30 at the time. She was wearing fabby biker boots with a pouffie light pink JP Gaultier dress. I don’t remember what I was wearing.
Simon Callow said hello to my dog on Aberdeen beach. I blogged it- it was only three weeks ago. He was the personification of the word “avuncular”.
Jo Brand asked me where the best curry house was in Aberdeen. I can only hope I didn’t disappoint her.
Harry Hill asked me and my work colleagues for advice on a joke before he went on stage at a theatre I worked in. He wanted to parody the Bacardi advert that was showing in cinemas at the time. You know the one; where guys are gadding about in the Bahamas but the voice over is narrating the equivalent occurrences back home. Like they would show three blokes running for a luxurious boat in the Caribbean and the narration would say, “Catching the last bus home”.
There were two versions; a Cockney one and a Scottish one. The tagline was “if you’re drinking Bacardi”. We filled in the blanks for the Scottish one for him. Seconds later he ran on stage and incorporated what we’d said into his act. We were glowing with pride.
Robbie Coltrane told me to “Beat it, eh?” as I snuck a wee look at him rehearsing a Dario Fo play at a theatre I was working in. Grumpy fat bastard.
My mum was chatted up by the late British comedy great, Dick Emery on Great Yarmouth pier. I was getting his autograph; he was trying to cop off with my mum. Ahhhh, they don’t make ‘em like that anymore!
I sat next to Will Young in a pub in January. Well, at the table next to him, actually. His mates got told off for playing music on their laptops by the barman. That made me snigger a bit. The urge to howl the phrase “Light My Fire!” urgently and repeatedly millimeters away from his face was strong in me, but then I remembered that I’m not fourteen just in time. Although, in retrospect, I think Jim Morrison would have been proud of me.
I was behind Wet Wet Wet’s Marty Pellow in a queue for a cashpoint machine in Glasgow. Whilst he was getting some cash out (possibly for smack- it was the early nineties- told on!) a car full of neds went past and one of them yelled, “Hoi Marty, yer music’s shite!”. Ah… the Weegies never let anyone get above their station….
Two members of Bananarama were at a wedding in the hotel I was playing pool at on holiday in Ireland. They looked manky. My Mum said so.
Billy Bragg shouted at me from stage to “take my lens cap off!” when he saw me struggling to film him from a balcony. The whole crowd turned round to gawp at me. Cheeky git. But in fairness to Billy, he was right; I had left the lens cap on.
Your most mundane celebrity encounter please…
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