I used to work in an Esso garage
Which, for some unbeknown reason attracted the occasional celebrity visitor during my tenure. Peter Duncan, Lionel Blair and Robert Smith (of the cure) have all set foot on the hallowed turf of the filling station on London Road in Bath.

Anyway, one day Van Morrisson came in and being a polite lad I served him, and thanked him profusely for Astral Weeks, which is a fine, fine album. He merely scowled and walked out, which wasn't a good start in terms of hero-worshop.

I also noticed that the man is so bloody short that be could barely reach over the countertop to sign his recipt. Stike two. You really shouldn't be towering over your heroes like a colossus.

Strike three was that I couldn't help noticing that he paid for his goods with a barclaycard silver. A silver for fucks sake - how loaded must this guy be? Even Robert Smith managed a Barclaycard gold (I had to check it was him and not some lookalike - and it did indeed say Mr R Smith on the card).

So in about 30 seconds I discovered that the artist responsible for the sublime Astral Weeks is in fact a grumpy, tightfisted dwarf. I lost my CD of the album in a move later that year and never bothered to buy another.
(MattDP (Squiggle), Fri 26 May 2006, 13:15, Reply)