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This is a question Celebrities part II

Five years ago, we asked if you've ever been rude to a celebrity, or have been on the receiving end of a Z-List TV chef's wrath. By popular demand, it's back - if you have beans, spill them.

(, Thu 8 Oct 2009, 13:33)
Pages: Latest, 16, 15, 14, 13, 12, ... 1

This question is now closed.

Saw Leona Lewis
At a book signing yesterday.

The queue was a bit long though, and I may have lost my rag a little.

(, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 9:36, 2 replies)
Pollies for ya
Stopping at Fleet services on my way home late one night.
I spotted a particularly familiar looking gentleman.
Might have stared at him a bit, but he started chewing his sarnie with his gob wide open going"nomnom nom"
it was only Ted fucking Heath. Did he eat like that at official events? Dirty bastard.
(, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 8:54, 1 reply)
I only just remembered
Jodie Sweetin AKA Stephanie Tanner from the TV show Full House went to my university.

I was eating lunch in the cafeteria and she walked over to speak to my friend. They talked about a job my friend had done, which the lovely Ms. Sweetin was vying for as it tied in to her major. Friend says, "Oh you shouldn't have any problem getting the job, they've let all kinds of people work there."

Says me, "So you're saying they don't have standards?"

Cue the both of them staring at me in silence. Cue my transition from smiley jokester to awkward mashed potato eater.

I wish to god she had told me "how rude" I was.

(, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 6:35, Reply)
Keira Knightley
Keira Knightly went to my old secondary school and was in my mate's older sister's year.
I was once round his and got shown an article/interview in the Daily Mail about Keira Knightly's upbringing and rise to fame etc, in which she claimed she was bullied throughout her teenage years by everyone for being dyslexic (sp?).
My mates sister thinks otherwise as she used to be good friends with her.. and definatley did not bully her about anything nor did anyone else.
So the Daily Mail rang up my old school and spoke to the headmaster who also denied any of her bullying claims and said there was never a complaint of bullying in the 5 years she attended.
I guess the point I'm making is.... IT'S LIES I TELL YOU, MOVIE-STAR ACTING LIES! That is all
(, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 3:55, 5 replies)
a distant uncle auditioned a group of four young men from liverpool to play his songs
but ended up turning them down on the basis that "he didnt like the drummer". they remained on good terms.

they also went on to become the beatles.

(, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 1:59, 2 replies)
my english teacher used to live opposite john cleese
and could see him going jogging every morning from her window.

i would pay good money for this spectacle.
(, Thu 15 Oct 2009, 1:51, Reply)
BTW. I once spent several weeks pushing the envelope of filth with a nasty, creative little minx whose last four (and recent) fuck buddies had been Robert Plant, Roland Orzabal, Sir James Dyson and someone out of the Stranglers (she wasn't precise). I was young, I was getting seriously laid, I was blessed by Gods.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 23:49, 4 replies)
Pervy Paddy
I stopped for petrol, trundling my clapped out Mondeo estate into a south London station, wife beside me, two-year-old daughter asleep in the back next to five-year-old crayon-wielding son. As we halted opposite the shop door it opened and a tall, elderly gent emerged. He looked up past the grimness of Kennington and smiled at a blue sky, his still chiseled features spreading into a self-satisfied grin.

Then he saw us and approached. All the windows were down and he glanced at the wife, still beaming, then past her to me. Then with a cheery wink he stuck his head in the rear window, smile ever wider, relishing with evident physical pleasure the innocent, infantile vista that was the back seat. This elegant, well-preserved, expensively suited, leery old fecker ogled my kids for several long seconds before looking straight at me and speaking in a low, reverential and frankly creepy voice: "They are why I do it you know. They're what it's all about for me."

It was one of those occasions when you're miraculously blessed with verbal inspiration. "Good for you pal. Now get the fuck away from my kids." If my wife was proud, she didn't express it. She stared straight ahead through the windscreen as the tall, clearly shaken paedo disappeared fast.

"That was Paddy Ashdowne" she said, "I used to quite like him..."
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 23:35, Reply)
One of my heroes...
...and not coincidentally one of the greatest speakers I have ever seen live, was Ken Campbell. Who told me to be quiet. I'm still mortified in my little heart by that. And I deserved it which made it worse. :(

Brilliant performer.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 21:40, 2 replies)
Some non-entitiy you will have never heard of.
I ran a climbing wall a few years ago, had the usual wankers in who thought they knew how to climb, who would stand and criticise and maybe do a route or two. But, I was a rock bitch and I climbed to the best I could. I climbed at various places around Europe and taught so many people, that I do not remember most of them.

So, while I was running the wall I had an e-mail from a climbing legend offering his services to teach a select bunch a few tricks of the trade. We snapped him up and advertised the event, getting a full booking with in three hours or so. Places sold out and those who could not make it were suitably pissed off.

The day of the event came and I closed the wall to the plebs and shut them out, leaving just the select few, those with enough cash to waste that they could pay for tuition with Mr Rock God. They started to warm up, he was due any minute. They stretched and climbed the easy stuff, Mr Rock God was now late by ten minutes.

Twenty minutes later an obviously still drunk, slightly smelly man comes into the wall and asked me where the class was to take place. I pointed him in to the wall area and say laughing "Don't worry mate, the wanker is late anyway."

A sudden stony look and the drunk guy hits me with the attitude, the traffic was bad coming down from where ever he had been. Yes folks, the guy who was charging us several hundred pounds for what to be honest I could have taught for thirty quid was the drunken bum I had just insulted.

Our relationship did not really pick up after that and to be honest he was ok once he sobered up, although gobbing in my office bin to clear his throat was not appreciated. Climbers are a funny lot at the best of times, but the Stone Monkey is one of the funniest.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 19:49, 2 replies)
Bait and switch ...
Last night I happened to go along to the fantastic "Evening WIth Kevin Smith" at the indigo2.

Now the seats in the audience were a cramped and tight affair, and at 6'6" and pretty bulky there was insufficient legroom, let alone arse-space so I figured I'd resign myself to an Evening Propping Up The Bar (at the back of the room, so I'd not miss the show).

Kevin Smith opens up with one of his stories that I reckon goes on for maybe about 30 minutes when he points out the microphones and that they're there for us to ask our questions and I figure I'll never get the chance to do this ever again so I saunter down and get in behind a couple of people on one side of the stage.

Mr. Smith then starts answering questions and it seems to take an age for him to get round to me, long enough for him to switch out of his hockey jacket top and into a robe, and when he does reach me the mic isn't even working. I'm wondering if it's a sign I should duck out but I decide (or perhaps it was the pre-show booze that decided) I was definitely going to do this...

The mic comes on and he asks me my question, and in front of a packed house I start to ask my question.

"As a fat, bearded, glasses-wearing Kevin, ..."

And then I pause for a beat and he's looking at me obviously unsure where this is going because I'm far from a small guy, and the crowd seems a little stunned, but I continue
"...I've had my share of abuse over the years and I wanted to ask you ..."

He cuts me off, looking somewhere between relieved and surprised.

"Hang on, is your name Kevin too?"


"You should come up on stage!"

And I look around thinking he's joking but he's all "no, seriously, the guy will show you how to come up, and I'll answer the next dude's question while you're making your way round."

So I make my way around the back, up on stage and he's answering the question when I appear behind him, looming a little, and he turns to me and invites me to sit on his couch, slap-bang in the middle of the stage, while he continues to answer the next guy's question. He then comes over, asks me to take my jacket off and hands me his hockey jacket, and asks me to put it on and zip it up and then sit back down. So I do. He then gets me a spare mic and sits next to me and asks me my questions. So I finish up asking the question, which concludes with me asking him what he's had to face since he got famous, and we chat a little, and then a few other questions. And I'm thinking "ok, this is a sympathy spotlight thing". And then he says "Hey, do you wanna stay up here for the rest of the show?"

"If it's cool with you it's cool with me."

And that's how I spent most of an Evening with Kevin Smith, with Kevin Smith, on stage. Admittedly most of it he was up on his feet wandering around, and I was just sat there on the couch/sofa thing trying to remain relatively inconspicuous, answering a few things he asked me.

After the gig I got to pop backstage but he was obviously tired and, hey, as much as he knew my name I could have been anybody so I felt slightly out of place (and my wife was still out front), but he offered me a photo (taken with the shitty camera on my phone) - twitpic.com/lfmgo - and he and his crew were pretty cool about the whole thing and saying I was a good sport for sticking it out up there, and then I left him to do whatever he does when he finishes a gig.

So, I managed to sit in comfort throughout the whole show, and get bought beer (I had 3 beers from people in the audience randomly buying me some whilst I was up on stage), and sit as close to the man as was possible.

I call that a successful evening (with Kevin Smith), even if it isn't a successful QotW answer as I was never actually rude to the guy.

(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 18:48, 9 replies)
A how to guide to wind up Camden's favorite crackhead
If you happen to visit Camden Town you’re more than likely to encounter that pikey scumbag druggy conehead, Amy Winehouse and her posse of annoying hipster hanger-ons, buzzing round her like the proverbial flies round shit.

I’ve had a few pub encounters with this crack-tacular knob head in the years I’ve lived in North London. And I can say without doubt the best way to turn our dearest Amy into a raging, spitting, seething mass of rediculous hair, shit tattoos with the accompanying sort of verbal assault that’d make a nun’s hair turn white in a milisecond is to do the following-

Wait until she’s absolutely falling over shitfaced (usually round the Good Mixer at about 11pm; any night of the week). Allow her time to stagger out - silently count to ten in your head - and when you follow after her she's absouletly guarenteed to be having a little sit down rest on the pavement (usually near the comic book shop a few doors down). Leisurely walk past her while similtaniously reaching into your pocket. And then casually toss a couple of 10 pence pieces into her lap while commenting to your mates: “Terrible thing, this homeless problem."

Absolutely guarenteed to get the mental bitch pissing blood and giving you a crash course in new, interesting and downright flamboyant swear words, this is.

Caution: Remember to wind Amy Winehouse up responsibly. Never attempt to do this unless you're wearing running shoes – that girl can run suprisingly fast when she builds up a head of steam.

Must be all the chemicals.

(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 17:17, 6 replies)
He REALLY doesnt like it
several years ago myself and my brother were leaving a pub on St. Martins lane in 'London's glittering west end' when we saw the bloke who played Uncle Monty in 'Withnail and I'...
We thought it would be capital fun to shout one of our favourite lines from Withnail and I at him.. at the top of our voices... from across a busy street...upon hearing 'Mony you terrible cunt!' being shouted at him for probably the millionth time - he turned round in our direction, a look of upmost fury on his face and shouted in reply 'Oh fúck off you pair of fúcking arseholes' -which made it all the more perfect an occasion
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 17:12, 4 replies)
A Slug in my soup.
Two years ago I was in a small cafe in Milngavie having lunch with my wife. I ordered the soup, carrot and coriander, while my wife, I think, had some duck pate. When the soup came it smelled delicious, but on tasting the first spoonful of orangey sustenance I noticed a small chewy lump, which I then surreptitiously spat back out onto my spoon. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the chewy lump was a slug!

"Crikey!" I said (or words to that effect) "This won't do, I'm going to jolly well complain."

But ere the first words of complaint had left my mouth, I heard the customer at the next table voice his distemper over the self same issue. The waiter tried to placate him, with weasel words: "I'm very sorry sir. This must have been an unfortunate error."

I could not but intervene - "More than an error!" says I "For I too have a gastropodal infestation in my comestibles. There must be some kind of systemic failure in the kitchen", and to my fellow diner I added "I suggest we investigate further!". It was at this point that I noticed that the other customer was none other than David Tennant, of Dr Who fame. Thus, immediately thereafter, David (following this adventure I am now on first name terms) and I proceeded to the kitchen with the waiter to remonstrate with the chef.

Then came my third surprise of the day. The chef was none other than elderly comedian, Tommy Cannon, of "Cannon and Ball" fame.

"Tommy!" says David "What is the meaning of molluscs in our bisques?"

Tommy (following this encounter I am now on first name terms) was shocked at the sluggy presence in the soup. "I am reet sorry lads" says he, in his fine Northern timbre, "Never have ah been so embarrassed by my chowder, by gum. Look now, in the pan I can see many more slugs, and here in this box of carrots the infestation is rife. I am truly sorry, and do not know how I can have missed this before."

"What low life scoundrel has supplied you with such poor quality ingredients?" questioned the erstwhile Doctor, David Tennant.

"Why, all our produce is locally sourced" replied the humourist. "The carrots are grown by a young lady of the town."

"We must repair there at once" quoth I "and complain most vociferously." So David, Tommy and I briskly perambulated to a nearby allotment where a woman was busy weeding the vegetable patch.

"I say there woman" I called "What is the meaning of tendering for sale to this fine old gentleman, vegetables so infested with slugs that they are not fit for consumption by man nor beast?". The woman stood up and faced us, and it was at that point that I recognised her as 90's pop diva Betty Boo, of "Doin' the Do" fame.

"But there can be no slugs in my garden" Betty (following this encounter I am now on first name terms) replied "Because look, I have twelve specially trained and coloured hedgehogs patrolling day and night specifically to consume the nasty little beggars". And indeed she spoke the truth - we had not noticed before, but there on the ground were a dozen pink hedgehogs marching regularly around the allotment. We were baffled - whence the slugs?

At that moment a great shout was heard from the neighbouring allotment, and a small black lump came flying over the fence and landed in the carrots. Bending over, Tommy picked up the lump, and we all gasped to see it was - a slug! As one we rushed to the fence and peered over.

In the neighbouring allotment, a large hairy man was bending over his vegetable patch. "GADZOOKS" cries he, "ANOTHER ONE! BEGONE FOUL CREATURE!" and over his shoulder he threw another slug. It struck David Tennant in the eye, and left a small trail of slime down his cheek.

"Hold fast there good fellow!" I hailed "What is the meaning of this aerial bombardment of invertebrates?"

The man straightened up and turned to face us. It was at this point I recognised him as well known and highly audible thespian Brian Blessed.

"WHAT?!" Cried Brian (following this encounter I am now on first name terms) "WHO ARE YOU?! WHAT DO YOU WANT?! AND WHERE ARE ALL THESE BLASTED SLUGS COMING FROM?!"

But Betty was already pointing at what we had all seen: at Brian's back, a line of slugs was marching from behind the compost heap and into the turnip patch. Quickly we vaulted the fence and followed the moving chain of gastropods to it's origin. Tucked behind the compost heap was a large box, full of slugs. "WHAT?!" cried Brian "WHO HAS PUT THIS HERE?! IT IS NOT MINE!"

Picking up the box, Betty turned it over, and there on the bottom was a label. "Property of Ringo Starr".

"WHAT?! HOW DARE THAT RYTHMIC MUSICIAN SABOTAGE MY ALLOTMENT" shouted Brian "WE MUST TEACH HIM A LESSON! COME ON, I WILL DRIVE!". So David, Tommy, Betty and I climbed into Brian's car (a yellow Ford Anglia with flames down the side) and drove over to Ringo Starr's house.

As we walked up the drive and approached the front door we could hear shouting from within, and in the hallway Ringo (following this encounter I am now on first name terms) was having a stand-up row with another man who had his back to us.

"Why aye mon, Whit yahs alls dooin puttin yon box o slugs in wur allotment like!" cried the gentleman.

"Caam down, caaam down,eh, eh!" replies the Liverpudlian percussionist.

"We also have a container-of-slugs related complaint to make! You must answer our accusations." pipes up our friendly timelord.

"Now listen lads, I have never seen those boxes before in my life, honest!" claimed the bearded bongo basher.

"Well, if not you, then who?" asks Betty, a question which was on all our minds.

"Why aye, I could find oot" chipped in the other man. It was now that I recognised him as none other than Kevin Whately, the Geordie actor famous for playing Sergeant Lewis. "In me pocket I have a prop finger print kit left over from the last episode of Inspector Morse".

Quickly the Humshaugh man dusted the slug boxes with powder, and several finger prints were clearly displayed.


"Good God man, tell us who it is!" I burst out.


[edit: sincere apologies to any readers of this anecdote who were left hanging at this cliffhanger point caused by the sudden appearance of my employer. I shall now finish my reminiscence.]

... "Good God man, tell us who it is!" I burst out.


So David, Tommy, Betty, Brian, Kevin, Ringo and I returned to the Ford Anglia and drove post haste to the mysterius Ms Salerno's house. Who was she, and what was her purpose?

Bursting through her door we found an attractive, naked middle aged lady filling a box with slugs.


"Boys, boys, boys!" exclaimed the fine bosomed europop princess, "it-a seems that-a you have-a caught-a me red-a handed. I am-a so sorry, but I can-a make it up-a to you."

And upon so saying she proceded to fellate each and every one of us with gusto and great aplomb. Which was dashed sporting of her. She then promised to never again engage in such slug tom foolery.

So the great slug mystery was solved, and we left happier and wiser than before.

The only downside was that when I returned to the cafe, my soup was cold. And my wife had run off with Lemmy Kilmister, lead singer from Motorhead. But that is tale for another time.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 16:51, 3 replies)
I just shook hands with Bryan Adams.
He's in my office.
He didn't want to talk to me, he just wanted to find the boss's dog that wanders around the office.
Oh well.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 16:27, Reply)
The VW advert woman..
Paula Hamilton in real life, was round my place some years back(long story) and aside from being somewhat Cuckoo herself also had a white Scottie dog that was a bit annoying... probably because it was used to having to fight for more attention than it's attention grabbing owner!
A cat I had at the time took and instant dislike to her dog and when no one was looking went mental on it's fluffy arse and beat the shit out of it! When we arrived in the kitchen the poor creature was huddled in a shaking ball in the corner with the cat doing it's best to look like evil incarnate, all fangs, claws and drool and unholy noises!

So.... by association, my pet beat up a celebrity's pet!
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 16:23, Reply)
Not Mary Carey unfortunately another silliebrity of similar namesake
Me and the Mrs. went to Universal Studios early last year in LA after having saved for nearly two years to fly to the fucking states. The day was going swimmingly, and I was really enjoying myself until we came upon Dueling dragons.
We cued for nearly an hour for the fire dragon, not being aloud to transfer over to the more quickly moving Ice dragon by an upstanding jobsworth. About 40mins in, a leaving patron had taken it upon themselves to regurgitate all of their over priced Pizza and chips quickly following that with an unplanned bowel movement. The smell was putrid and I just wanted to leave, but the wife couldn't justify this, so on we plodded.
Just before, and I mean we were next in line, we got on, none of the barriers would go up o let us on, so we waited. And waited. And waited, until a small side hatch opened down the way. Out steps two of the biggest fucking bouncers you've ever seen behind which Maria... Miss M. Carey appears. Now I'm all for a choice piece of blart, but she looked rank. Spotty, sweaty, short and tits akimbo. Over the tanoy announces her arrival, and she waves like the fucking queen at everyone. No one says a fucking word. So in silence she adorns the seatbelt and away to go. For us all to keep waiting.
Everybody stands there in the sweltering, shit and spew aromated lines waiting for her to come back. On her arrival, she hops off, another regal wave and says to her bouncer. "Eewww, it smells, I'm glad we didn't queue.
I know it wasn't long to wait a bit more, considering we'd waited so much before. But that last wait was like a thousand lifetimes. Stewing away. Toiling the hatred.
Ruined my day that did.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 16:20, 2 replies)
I used to live upstairs from the UKs only Muslim porn star
she had the police break into my flat to turn the taps off which were leaking into her flat.
which I thought a bit rich from such a proponent of waters sports.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:45, 1 reply)
Years ago I went to Vegas
I met Willie Nelson who was decent enough to pose for a photo with me & my mate. But more importantly, on the plane I was sat next to Geoffrey from Fresh Prince, nice guy.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:33, 5 replies)
Yeah, whatever.......
14 years ago I was sitting on a dusty floor at 6th form college (it was the cool thing to do) when friend of a friend Dominic Monaghan (he of 'Lord of the Rings' and 'Lost' fame) came and plonked himself down next to me. The conversation went thusly:

Dom: "so, I'm auditioning for a role in a telly programme with that woman out of "Keeping Up Appearances"

Me: "oh right"

And then I turned to chat to the person on my other side for he was the lad who had the smoking materials and I had no interest in a 17 year old's whistful fantasies of fame.

Suffice to say, he got the part on the UK TV series "Hetty Wainthrop Investigates" and used it as a springboard to a highly successful Hollywood career.

Maybe if I had been a bit less ignorant I'd now be going on holidays to Mr Monaghan's big LA mansion (which he probably now has) as his faithful friend who he met at college and supported him throughout his bugeoning acting career. Or I might have ended up getting him pissed, missing his audition and he'd be working on the bins now.

So, in effect, I made his career.......
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:23, 4 replies)
Actually, while I'm on the subject
of being run over by celebrities...

My Mother combines a love of a flea-ridden charity shop bargain with an almost pathlogical disregard for road safety. So when I took her to the poncey row of second hand shops to be found in the Marylebone area of London, it was like trying to control a hungry lioness on the scent of an injured wilderbeast.

She spied an Armani suit in the window of the Sue Ryder shop on the other side of the road and went haring across the street before I had time to shout "for the love of christ, you lunatic pensioner, mind the bloody great big powder blue Bentley coming towards you..." she'd sprinted across the road as fast as her tiny legs could carry her. With no thought for my own safety, or for the huge life insurance policy I would surely come into if I'd just left her to the mercy of the London traffic, I jumped in front of her and shouldered her out of the path of the car, just as the driver slammed on the brakes.

Sheepishly, I raised a hand in an apologetic gesture. I was rewarded with the sort of look that said driver usually reserves for the collection of mentally troubled chavs that he, being Simon Cowell, normally finds himself auditioning on X-Factor.

My mother still refers to this as the day Simon Cowell tried to kill me. I reckon there's a few grand in that as a headline if I played it right...
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:19, Reply)
Hotel du Vin, Bristol, this summer just gone
I had the joy of being seated on the next table to none other than David Lloyd, Ian Botham, Mike Atherton and a highly talented and valued member of the England cricket team.

Oh, wait, no, sorry, I meant Ian Bell.

Athers and Botham, as one might expect, got shit faced and very shouty. Ian Bell looked on occasion like he might say something worth listening to but at the last minute failed to live up to potential.
No change there then.

The day after, we went to see England spank the mighty *cough* West Indies in an ODI. Alec Stewart gave our picnic a special mention on TMS as we were sat in front of the commentary box. So I gave him some of my flapjack. That's not a euphemism.

Also, Alan Hansen and I appear to have a reciprocal stalking arrangement going on. My dog knocked him over in Liverpool, a week later he nearly ran me over in Knightsbridge. I'd like to think it was deliberate.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:08, 3 replies)
Do you want a cup of tea love?
I was so nervous I'd just pranged my car on the way in to the multistorey. Locating the 'goods inwards' entrance I walked past a couple of odd looking groupies, to an office where I was given a 'friends and family' pass, although I was neither.

Once through this 'us and them' sphincter, the reality of being with people *that* famous was actually unremarkable - even the queen, after all, does a poo.
I was shown into one of the dressing rooms. It was more typical of a hastily erected student halls than a stars boudouir, the vast bouquet of flowers set against the painted grey breezeblocks seemed somehow incongruous.

I was pimping my services to all four of them, but only two took me up on my offer. Very bizarre to have someone that famous spontaneously disrobe in front of you. I clicked with one of them. She was such a hon - easy, down to earth - the title was her first words to me - after that we worked together [I was their masseur] every day for the eight nights of their shows.

She talked about fame, and how Christmas shopping was more like a 'smash and grab' raid - and the people assumed that you'd both lost your memory and hearing when you became a star, especially back in your home town.

All the more surreal when in a room is just you, their manager, and David Beckham, having his hair cut.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:05, 4 replies)
My first ever visit to Blackpool last year at the grand age of 29. In an arcade on one of the piers, watching FoldsFive play video games and generally killing time until we met up with milknosugar. My gaze was drawn towards a tallish silvery haired gent walking through the arcade with a woman. I did a double take. It was only Roy Walker. He clocked me and had that look on his face that said 'I'm TV's Roy Walker. Please recognise me.' I pretended I didn't notice and just looked through him. It seems he was off to watch celebrity gyppo Joe Longthorne who was doing one of his shows there.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 15:01, 1 reply)
My ex-drama teacher once
taught a Bond girl.

He wouldn't say which one it was.

That's it. Now, who wants to touch me?
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 14:51, 4 replies)
Richard Hearne aka Mr Pastry. Google it if you have to.
I have the moment I met him on film (8mm). I told him his moustache didn't look real and the miserable old bastard scowled and turned his back on me.

I cried and cried and cried.

I was five.
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 14:50, 1 reply)
Alan Carr
i once growled at alan carr in morrisons, and he went red and minced off. He looked pretty scared.

i thoguht it was hillarious.

I felt bad later after watching his live DVD as i thought it was quite good.

(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 14:29, Reply)
really, finally
bobby ball once told me to get out of his 'fucking' way whilst he was walking backwards along the promenade in blackpool and walked right into me.

I was starstruck to say the least.

(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 14:23, 1 reply)
and finally........
i have been attacked on two seperate occasions in two sepearate branchs of a low rent shoe shop i was once an employee of by none other than alex 'mad man' higgins.

the first time he threw a shoe at me and i had to ask him to leave (i was 15 and had no idea who he was.

the second time a couple of months later he wandered into the swinton branch and started to berate the manageress and i was told to ask him to leave.

hes got something against shoefayre
(, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 14:22, Reply)

This question is now closed.

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