I’ve been living in London nearly two years, but I saw my first celebrity only last week. It was near Old Street station, ten minutes from where I live. This just goes to show that meeting celebs is like a car accident (also you’ll tell everyone you know, and some people lose control of their bladder). What’s more impressive is it was actually someone I recognised. Although that’s a stupid thing to say, because if I didn’t recognise him I wouldn’t have known he was a celebrity. The woman in front of me at the Co-op buying mozzarella and loo roll could have been an international model and I’d have been none the wiser.
Being unused to seeing celebrities, my first thought was “I know him”. Maybe he used to get the same commuter train as me and once made stilted conversation about the weather? No that’s not it. Maybe I met him at a work conference where we awkwardly discussed the rain? No, that’s not it either. As I’m suddenly very aware I need more variety of topics for small talk, it clicks. He’s a comedian I really admire, a common fixture in the Mock the Week line up who always makes me laugh.
This is great! I could go up and tell him I’m a huge fan, maybe have a picture with him to put online so that people will ask where I met him. “Oh I just bumped into him on the street” I could say nonchalantly “I made a joke about the weather and he laughed.”
I bet he wouldn’t mind at all if I went up and asked for a photo. We’d probably have a proper connection, sharing a moment where he recognised in me a kindred spirit. I’m a proper fan, not one of those people who have seen him once or twice on the BBC and think they know him. Pff, they probably don’t even know his name.
Shit. I can’t remember his name.
Brian? Paul? No no… Steve? Dammit, why are there so many names? Why don’t we call everyone Keith and be done with it?
God, I can’t just go up to him like a gushing moron saying “you’re amazing on the telly!” We’re just about to pass. Ok, if I can’t talk to him, I can nod in respect. We don’t need a conversation to form a connection. He’ll know I know who he is, like a secret between us, but he’ll see I respect him enough not to bother him. I have places to be that are just as important as spotting him. More so, even.
I manage to ignore the urge to nod. I’d look like a nerd in spasm, and he doesn’t know me from Adam.
Adam? No that’s not it either. Crap.
Craig is a Shoreditch-based, part-time, hyphen-overusing writer. You can find him on Twitter at @CraigJBeadle
