Star Struck

I used to think  I was quite cool (not that there has ever been any evidence to support this) but I have recently found myself to be what can only be described as Starstruck.

So far I have managed to spend my life pretty much entirely avoiding contact with Stars, both major and minor.

However, I always thought that, should I come face to face with a celebrated personage, I might retain an air of dignity - perhaps even issue forth with a charming/witty observation. 

That was until a recent encounter with a Famous Person in my local corner shop caused me to revise my opinion. 

In very close proximity to aforementioned FP my throat closed, I went bright red and sweated - a lot.

Now this person was someone whose programmes I enjoy, but I wouldn't say I was in awe of them.  Why they should elicit such an extreme(ly unattractive) response is quite beyond me.

Naturally enough this whole episode brought to the surface a striking dilemma.


If I behave in this unseemly fashion during an non-encounter,  what on EARTH am I going to do if I should find myself up close and personal with someone I truly, truly, very nearly almost worship?

I am going to want to let them know how I feel. 
I am going to feel compelled  to connect with them in, what is hopefully, a non-stalkerish way. 

Not very likely if I am tight-throated, crimson and perspiring profusely.


Best Beloved suggested, in his cool-headed, clear-thinking manner, that I approach the celebrity in question, shake his/her hand and tell them what a big fan I am of them.

Sounds simple enough.  But really, how workable is that?

I had a chance to find out yesterday.

Mr David Mitchell

In London, on a very dear friend's Hen Afternoon (well I am in my forties) we were sitting in the foyer of the Waldorf Hotel waiting for the rest of the party to join us. 
I was gazing into space when into that space sauntered one Mr David Mitchell of Mitchell and Webb and Peep Show fame (among other things). 
I say 'sauntered', really he was walking quite purposefully - and seemed to be with an older couple and a young lady (not that that's important, although I expect it is to Mr M).

'Look', I said, to the other members of the party, 'there's David Mitchell of Mitchell and Webb fame.  Shall I speak to him?'

'Yes', they said, as one.

But his stride was such that before I knew it he was out of the hotel.

An opportunity lost?  Well, kind of . . .

He walked past the window and - for reasons quite beyond me - I mouthed, somewhat grotesquely,

'I LOVE YOU' at him.

I know.

Based on this unfortunate display I have decided in future to remain mute and immobile when in close proximity to the Famous or Celebrated.




Unless it's Derren Brown or JK Rowling . . . in which case heaven knows what I'll do.