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This is a question Celebrity Encounters III

I once stood next to Ian Beale out of EastEnders in the gents' toilets at the BBC. BEAT THAT. Tell us of celebrity encounters that went well, or meetings with the famous that ended up as a complete disaster. (And we'll take it as read you've just made up a "I got touched up by Jimmy Savile" story, OK?)

Suggested by Munsta

(, Thu 5 Dec 2013, 13:19)
Pages: Popular, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6, 5, 4, 3, 2, 1

This question is now closed.

Gatwick Airport, 1997.
About to board a plane for the first time ever (in my twenties), nerves and excitement are taking turns to dance on my bladder, making me need a piss every fifteen minutes.

I go for one last leak before getting on the plane and as I enter the gents, Terence Stamp exits a cubicle having dropped an aggressively pungent mud-baby.

We briefly make slightly awkward eye contact and I take my place at a urinal with the stench of acrid thesp-biscuit burning my nostrils.

Kneel before Chod!


Gibson Night of 100 Guitars, Wembley Arena 1994.

After a misunderstood hand gesture, Slash from G'n'R comes back onto the stage and before starting to play, points at me, gives me the 'wanker' gesture and flicks his cigarette at me.

Mr Slash, on the vanishingly small chance you read this and remember the event, I promise you my original hand gesture wasn't directed at you. However, having since read your autobiography, I think you're a proper cunt, so you can shove it up your toilet, you top-hat-wearing penis.

(, Thu 12 Dec 2013, 2:18, 5 replies)
When I met Paul McGann
I did some Withnail & I quotes. He was amazed that anyone remembered anything from the film to quote and praised me for my intelligence and wit*

*lies it was at Glastonbury one of the foul, muddy, rainy ones I said "did you come to Glastonbury by mistake?".... he laughed
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 23:46, Reply)
Easygroove nicked my spliff

(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 23:39, Reply)
Clem Fandango
hated my voiceover.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 23:38, Reply)
Arnold Peters stroked my rat.

(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 23:16, Reply)
Keith Senior
Stole my dinner.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 20:21, Reply)
Not one celebrity story about the French House or Coach and Horses nor of the Groucho.
Not even made up. Well, I remember it like yesterday when Jeffrey Bernard looked at me very disapprovingly because I was not wearing a hat. "il pleut dans ma chamber," he burped.

Perhaps more surprisingly was the day in the French House that Donaldson turned up sober and drug free. If ever a man needed drugs and alcohol it was William Donaldson, the hilarious old cunt.

What Tom Baker will do for money! I tell ya. Not just voiceovers, I hear - probably falsely and without substance, he uses that mouth for. Lewd innuendo.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 19:47, 5 replies)
i dun plops in ur mum n it looks like benny off crossroads

(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 17:14, 4 replies)
My ex spotted someone from a band she used to listen to, at the Royal Exchange in Stourbridge, Sidled over and introduced herself,
OK, he said wearily, which one of them in here pointed me out?
I recognised you, she said- from the album sleeve in 1980 (about 15 years earlier).
Really? So you're a real fan? Can you sing the lyrics to (insert band's lesser known b-side tracks)?
She did.
Upon which he was mightily impressed and stayed chatting with her for about another hour- then took our address and later on posted us a free signed EP, neglecting to scrub off his home address in under the sticky label but luckily she's not a stalker.

What a nice chap. Now, I wouldn't expect many people to recognise Brian Tatler, or even to have heard of his band Diamondhead but when a young German semi-professional tennis player called Lars Ulrich hitch-hiked to London just to see their show, then realised he had no-where to stay afterwards, was taken in by Brian for a couple of weeks where he hung about with the band and then took himself back home, muchly impressed.

Young Lars would then go on to form a band called Metallica, who regularly cover 'Am I Evil?' by DH on stage and on albums and cite it as one of the greatest influences on the development of Thrash Metal.

Brian is one of the humblest rock guitarists in history and still hangs out in his hometown, and yet influenced with one riff one of the most widespread genres of rock in the world.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 16:36, 4 replies)
stitch that Jimmy
I was at an Exploited gig. When the gig had finished Wattie was manning the merchandise stall, as I walked passed I shouted out "oi Whattie you sell out prick!" I was trying to as anarchistic as you can be when you are 17.

He leapt across the table grabbed me and headbutted me really fucking hard without a word, then went back to selling t shirts
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 16:05, Reply)
"Can I buy you a pint?"
A friend of mine has a story about meeting Richard Harris in a pub and buying him a drink. It's a funny story and it's not mine to tell, but the thing I learned most from it is that rather than going up and gushing and being generally fanboyish to your heroes, if you want to say hallo then offering to buy them a drink by way of quiet thanks for their work/entertainment/heroism etc is usually appreciated.
Living as I do in central London, I sometimes run into famous people whilst out and about. Most are, of course, twats, but some are people whom I like and respect and who have entertained me enough over the years that I reckon I owe them a drink in return. So it is that several celebs including Dave Stewart, Ian Hislop, Dwight Schulz (another story I may tell, as it's one of my favourites) and John Cleese have had an unexpected drink bought for them by a cheerful stranger who didn't hang about. I reckon it's what I'd want people to do if I was famous.


He was standing outside the convention hall. He'd been surrounded all day by unwashed geeks who all wanted a piece of him and I figured that he probably didn't want disturbing. He was having a few quiet minutes and a cig to mellow out before going back in and so I hung back in a frenzy of indecision. I wanted to say hallo and offer him a drink, but he appeared so happy to be on his own for a bit.
This was someone whose work I'd been introduced to when I was seven years old. It was, at the time, a revelation and astonishingly his own work kept me entertained for the better part of twenty years until it was finally superceded. He'd been responsible for more late nights, more jokes, more laughter and probably more arguments than any other single influence in my entire life (Including booze. Maybe.). When I was small or even a teenager, every new product I saw with his name on it was a guaranteed doorway into other worlds.
In the end, I thought that the worse that could happen was that he'd say no, so I wandered nonchalantly over.
"'Scuse me?" I said. "Can I buy you a drink?"
This was plainly a line he hadn't heard yet and he looked at me, a little nonplussed.
"Why?", he asked.
"Because you've been entertaining me ever since I was seven, and I reckon I probably owe you one by way of a thank you."
He looked at me over his glasses. "No, you can't", he said. I started to turn away. "But I'll buy you one."

He was lovely. Friendly, avuncular, and obviously only too used to dealing with people like me who had a story or two to tell and a joke or an experience to share. He told me a few himself. It was great, and somewhere inside, my inner seven year old was dancing about with glee.

He died a couple of years later, which made me sad. But at least I got to say thank you and, in return, Gary Gygax bought me a pint.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 13:34, 10 replies)
I got touched up by Jimmy Saville.
But to be honest, I was just impressed that a man that age knew how to use Photoshop.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 13:20, Reply)
I got touched up by Jimmy Saville lol

(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 13:08, Reply)
You might think that Lionel Blair is pointing at chickens in this picture.

But in fact, he's tallying them up.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 11:56, 3 replies)
I once saw Baldmonkey smash up some shit.
Then he leered at some girls in a way that didn't make them uncomfortable.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 10:25, 2 replies)
ulrika Ka ka ka
I went to a shooting stars stage show. I was meeting my friends at the theater having finished work late. I was wandering about the foyer looking for them. Couldn't see them so decided to look outside. As I approached the door hand outstretched I thought I heard my mates voice so I turned around still walking towards the door and walked onto Ulrika Johnson. More specifically my outstretched hand pushed into Ulrika's tit.

I resisted the temptation to go "honk honk" she gave me look of pure loathing without me doing that
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 9:51, 1 reply)
From my previous stories, you'll know I've met Britt Ekland - her of the famous Wicker Man film, in which you don't see her bottom.
My first experience with her was when we were working on a charity stall (she's a patron of the Alzheimer's Society), and we were trying to flog little fluffy elephants (the AS emblem at the time).

It was just before Hallowe'en, and we'd dressed up for the day for a bit of fun. She'd decided to dress as a sort of Christopher Lee-alike Dracula, but her vampire teeth were a bit old and worse for wear.

I'd helped her fix them in, but one fell out, so I replaced it from another set I had. Typically enough the other then fell out, so I replaced that one too.

And that was my Seller Britt E en-count ersatz three.

Or something.

Fuck off.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 8:49, 6 replies)
Squiggled upon from a great height.
When I was a young tacker I developed a deep and enduring love for TV. I think it stemmed from the fact that the only tv I watched growing up in Africa was some "royal" people getting married - on the grainy b&w we all gathered round to watch it looked like some fit young girly about to be fed to this beaner with massive fucking ears.
There was also the weekly episode of "Skippy the Bush Kangaroo". As I knew we were moving to Australia soon I made sure I watched every episode I could. I was sure that by clicking my tongue in my mouth, I would be able to fluently converse with any of the kangaroos in Oz...

Then we moved. Mum bought a colour tv and video recorder. Oh, sweet opulence!
But it only got better. I discovered several shows that were to shape my mind and attitudes growing up. Monkey showed me that a fish and a pig are cool but being a hedonistic monkey is cooler. And also that to avoid trouble you should always listen to and obey your Buddhist priest. I also discovered that since I got up early on weekends there was something a lot more entertaining to watch than the test pattern. Thanks, rage!

But the jewel in the crown was
Mr Squiggle.

Here was a puppet with a pencil for a nose who could take the most esoteric bunch of scribbles on a page and not only make sense of it but turn it into a work of art. UPSIDE FUCKING DOWN!!
There were a few others that played a part in Mr Squiggle's world - Old bill and Gus the snail shared a joke and showed us more of the world, Blackboard was always a grumpy cunt. But if you watched him awhile you came to understand that his arrogance and frustration were simply a foil for Mr Squiggles breathy optimism. And of course little did I realise it then, at my tender age, but Miss Jane was not only an excellent upside-down-picture-turner-over but also a stone fucking cold fox.

Then, joy of joys I found out that Mr Squiggle was hitting the road. There was to be a live show at the entertainment centre of my town! Man, I pestered my mum day and night, I even offered to put in some of my hard earned pocket money. Eventually she capitulated and bought tickets - I was going to see my heros.
The deal was that you could bring along a scribble on a large piece of card and if you were lucky enough The Squiggle-Meister would deign to turn your pointless doodling into artwork right there in front of your eyes. On the day I sized up the competition. There were some contenders, but I felt that my piece entitled "Motivation: The antipathy of antithesis", a work I felt encompassed the very existential nature of the universe would trump them all.

The show was fucking amazing.
Finally as I expected I was chosen to bare my soul with my art. I took my piece up and it was placed upon the easel. Squiggle looked at it ponderously for a moment and then went rapidly to work. In seconds he was done. An oblong inside an oblong.
"There you are young man," he said "A Bear in it's Lair on it's side."
I started to protest but was (not so gently) ushered off the stage into the wings. That fucking useless hack had turned what was supposed to the equivalent of a butterfly emerging from its chrysalis into a blob and a bad play on words!

I would like to say I got my own back on Mr Fucking Squiggle - but the universe has another purpose for me, clearly. Having said that it hasn't stopped me wanking myself stupid imagining encounters with Miss Jane.
And Bill the Steam-shovel.
(, Wed 11 Dec 2013, 6:55, 16 replies)
After 2 Unlimited's music career faded and the members had to get proper jobs...
...alleged rapper Ray Slinjaard got a job cleaning the toilets at the hospital I was working at.

One day he happened upon a particularly nasty shitter. It appeared that a LOT of people had been in there and just defacated all over the floor. At least, that's what I gleaned from the fact that he emerged from muttering to himself 'Faeces. All around different faeces I see'
(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 23:20, 61 replies)
I pretended to be a fireman so I could help do a fire inspection of Stanley Kubrics house near Harpenden.
He was very nice and gave us a bottle of beer each.
(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 22:46, 3 replies)
Back in the nineties, right, oh man you're gonna love this one, in the nineties, yeah
I was working for the popular rave music group 2Unlimited for some reason as a copy editor or something, ok, right, and they asked me one day, at work, to see how many alveolar nasal sounds were in their new single "No Limits".
That's when I was a, wait for it, celebrity "n" counter, you fucking pricks.
(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 21:11, 3 replies)
For Your Pies Only
I passed an old heap on the bridge steps one night last week as I was returning home. A pathetic bundle of grimy and smelly old rags, coughing and swigging from a plastic bottle of meths. It was such a pitiful sight that I stopped, fishing in my pocket for change. I dropped a few coins into the vagrant’s sad little tin, reflecting on the injustice of homelessness, how intolerable it was that it should exist in this day and age.

As I walked away, the old heap mumbled a thank-you - and I stopped dead in my tracks. I recognised the voice! That Plymothian drawl - could it be...? I turned back, peering into the heap of clothes to where its head should be.

‘I - Ivor?’ I said.

Rags moved and a face was revealed: the unmistakable lardy round face of Ivor Dewdney. It was filthy and unshaven, but definitely him.

‘Leave me alone,’ he muttered; he sounded drunk. Meths drunk. The worst sort - a violent, brain-buggering stupor. I had to be careful.

‘Ivor,’ I said, gesturing at the piss-stinking pile of rags he inhabited. ‘What has brought you down to this?’

Ivor’s lips parted in a snarl. ‘Piss off,’ he growled. So he still had some of the old spark in him.

‘Ivor, let me help you,’ I said. ‘I live just up the road - come with me and I can give you a bath, pies and ale.’

Ivor frowned at the mention of baths but I could see his face light up at the prospect of pies.

I thought he was going to acquiesce, but then he frowned again, and shifted in his rags. ‘I - I can’t,’ he said in a strange strangled voice. ‘Y’see... y’see, I’m on a mission.’ His eyes gleamed in the orange glow of the streetlamp. ‘I’m not really Ivor Dewdney, I’m James Bond! Blofeld has been spotted in the Old Fox and I’m staking out the area... to assassinate Blofeld and stop him launching his Atom Bomb from that church up there.’

I didn’t need to look where Ivor was pointing. Right at the top of the town is a red-brick church with a square tower topped off with a green spire. I always thought it looked like a rocket, rearing up into the sky - but it obviously wasn’t.


‘James Bond!’ he insisted in a gurgling voice.

‘Balls!’ I shouted back. ‘You’re not James Bond, you’re Ivor Dewdney, pasty entrepreneur extraordinaire!

He buried his head into his grimy hands and wailed. ‘I’m James Bond,’ he blubbed. ‘James fucking Bond O O bastard 7, you cunt.’

I crouched down beside him. ‘Okay, Mr Bond,’ I murmured soothingly. ‘Is there anything I can do to assist you in your mission?’

Ivor beckoned me closer, and, braving the smell of meths, urine and months-old sweat I leaned towards him so that my ear was next to his pudgy mouth. His rank breath caressed my ear as he whispered the immortal words: ‘Yes there is. Go into the 24-hour garage, get us some fags, a pie and a jazzmag. The cunts won’t let me in after I pissed on their forecourt.’

I did as he bade me, but when I returned, he wasn’t there. All that remained was a piss-soaked pair of trousers and an empty Ivor Dewdney pasty wrapper.

I never saw him again.

Oh Ivor, wherever you are, I hope you are okay.
(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 20:20, Reply)
I nearly peed on Paul McCartney
I was only about two months old. Early 1996 and he was bouncing me up and down on his knee. My mum took me off him as she saw I was about to wet myself before I could do the deed. We still have the rocking chair he was sat in. I can never truly forgive her for not leaving me there a bit longer.
(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 19:47, 1 reply)
My mate cut through the electric line to Engelbert Humperdinck's house when he was working on the road outside.

(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 18:58, 3 replies)
I shared a nod and a look with Jack Davenport.
I posted this last time but it's my favourite celebrity encounter because we were in the bar of the theatre he was performing in and the slight nod and smile conveyed my appreciation of his work better than any sychophantic speech would have and his acknowledgement was appreciated.
I feel we actually interracted rather than the usual "will you sign my... I loved you in..." bullshit.
We were two men having a beer and giving a nod and a smile of respect.
(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 18:53, Reply)
I once pissed in Nelson Mandella's toilet in his house in Soweto. He wasn't there and I never met him though.
(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 18:11, 10 replies)
I'd apologise to Billy Joel, but he's a cunt.
Phil Brown, Garry Mabbut, Paul Walsh, Kaulo Toure,
Brian Blessed, Margot Kidder, (Lois Lane Dontcha know),
Brian Jacks, Maureen Mowlam, Robin Cook, Alistair Darling
Barry Fry, Stephen Fry, Josh Widdicombe (and his bro).

Stewart Lee, Jonathon Ross, Robert Smith,
jimbob, "Fruit Bat" and Stan Collymore, Bilel Moshni, Brooking, Bobby Robson going mad, Martin, Sonia, Billy from Eastenders.

I didn’t make them tea,
I only made it
For the bloke from Bucks Fizz.
I didn’t make them tea,
I only saw them
But I didn’t serve them.

Witherspoon, Joe Conteh, Bruno and Terry Marsh
Jo Brand, Jo Wiley, Jo Wiley again
Simon Pegg touched my leg, Bridgestock did not,
Milton Jones is miserable, and he saw my cock
Rick Stein, Dr Who’s Rory, The Hoff on Harley Street,
Louis Theroux (riding bike), Darth Vader, Sand People,
Tony Daniels, Warwick Davis, Kenny Baker, Peter Mayhew,
Michael Palin, Terry Gillam, (I’ve seen two Pythons).

I didn’t make them tea,
I only made it
For the bloke from Bucks Fizz.
I didn’t make them tea,
I only saw them
But I didn’t serve them

David Wicks, Carl Hiaasen, Richard E Grant, Colin Baker,
Alan Sugar, Garry Bushell, (Actually I did serve them)
Simon Le Bon, Ian Lavender, The Honky Tonk Man,
Steve Davies, in the gym, his trainers had holes.

Jon Bernthal, Damon Albarn, Hannah Spearit, (and her ma),
That bloke, Ian something, (plays Churchill in Dr Who)
Freema Ageyman, Daniel Slott, Paul Cornwell and Stan Lee,
Darren Hayman, "Lucky", The MORE THAN Dog.

I didn’t make them tea,
I only made it
For the bloke from Bucks Fizz.
I didn’t make them tea,
I only saw them
But I didn’t serve them

Dan Didio, Joe Quesada, "The bloke from Magners Ad"
David Lloyd, Mark Buckingham,
"Him who played Candyman", Candyman,
Candyman, Candyman, Candyman, Candyman,
Glamour Models, Wrestlers, who's names I do not know,
Olive from On The Buses, what else do I have to say?

I didn’t make them tea,
I only made it
For the bloke from Bucks Fizz.
I didn’t make them tea,
I only saw them
But I didn’t serve them

John Hannah called me a cunt, (well he said a ‘Tottenham Fan’)
Having coffee on Charlotte Street, Graham Norton swinging his feet,
Mark Addy led astray, I hope that child didn’t die
Mark Radcliffe buying drink
And in Balham in a pub
I got pissed with Arthur Smith, The bloke who travelled with a fridge and three cast members from The Bill.

I didn’t make them tea,
I only made it
For the bloke from Bucks Fizz.
I didn’t make them tea,
I only saw them
But I didn’t serve them

I didn’t make them tea,
I only made it
For the bloke from Bucks Fizz.
I didn’t make them tea,
I only saw them
But I didn’t serve them

I didn’t make them tea,
I only made it
For the bloke from Bucks Fizz.
I didn’t make them tea…
(, Tue 10 Dec 2013, 16:56, 6 replies)

This question is now closed.

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