Bit of a roundabout story, but...
So, a few months ago, for my birthday (actually the day before), I was supposed to meet up with a very good friend from the States who was coming over to London just to see me. We were going to meet up in Covent Garden, and he would buy me many expensive drinks. Sadly, his plane never left New York, as one of the passengers had a hissy fit about the terrorist lookalike sitting next to her, and it was grounded. So he calls me to tell me this, and I disappointedly start to trudge back home.

On my way to the tube to begin the hot, sweaty ride back, I was knocked down by a taxi, rushing somewhere stupidly fast. Completely unconscious, and apparently looking quite grave, I was then dashed to hospital in the very same taxi (I found this out a bit later, as I will reveal).

Wake up the next morning in a hospital bed, feeling sore, but generally alright. New scar that wasn't there before. Cast. Nothing too appalling after the initial shock. Person in the bed next to me sees I'm awake:
"Oh, so you're okay. That's a relief. You looked pretty bad".
I look across, and who should it be but Madonna, fresh from her riding accident, recuperating not 4 feet from me. Before this has a chance to sink in, someone else walks into the room and likewise expresses relief that I'm fine. None other than Mr. George Clooney, whose taxi it had been that knocked me down.

Well, not being ones to waste such an opportunity, they got the orderlies to bring in a couple of decks, and Madonna played a few tracks off her then-unreleased album for me, with Clooney singing the accompanying harmonies and dancing like a young John Travolta.

Which was nice.
(cface run. Run, face, run!, Sat 10 Dec 2005, 12:35, Reply)