Happy Saturday
One saturday morning i was rounding the meat isle in my local sommerfield (now a coop, ho hum!) only to see BEZ from the happy mondays and too many drugs fame picking upo some milk.

Being a fan of the drugs (and the mondays) my brain kicked into gear and the words 'bez' escaped from my mouth.

Thus followed a rather awkward few moments as he turned to me and asked what i wanted.....

Pointing out that i had met him ten years before and that he had signed my ex's tits at the time wasnt met with nay recognition, he just pointed out 'it was a long time ago and i cant remember any of that'

that'll be the drugs then.

i also once hit ian bothams son in a ball pool, (well he said he was ian bothams son, and thats not why i tumped him, he was at the time putting all the balls on his side of the pool. A ball pool without any balls is a hole. Like being ian bothams son gives you the right to comandear all the balls!?)
(youareallveryveryveryunhelpful, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 14:15, 1 reply)

take off your hat you tw@,,,,,
... i upset badly drawn boy not long ago. he lives round the corner from me and has been wearing the same hat for about 5 years....... He also went to my sixth form so i feel we have something in common...

Anyway, being a smoker i had popped outside for a quick ciggy and being rather drunk and northern, within minutes i had attracted a crowd. I was chatting to a rather crusty rocker type about the weather or the politics of paletine or something. when mr Badly wandered out and stood with said crusty. He as quite chatty (and miserable looking as usual) so i thought this would be a good time to tell him we went to the same sixth form, and also how good his first album was.

He seemed remotley fazed byt his and pointed out 'ive had four albums since then.....

to which i replied - ive never listened to any of them....

he wasnt very impressed

but then again - who has!?

he turned his back on me and that was the point i thought the conversation was well and truly over....
(youareallveryveryveryunhelpful, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 14:08, 2 replies)

Celebrity thievery
I do a spot of acting every now and again, and have performed at the Edinburgh Festival for the past 6 years. Whilst out promoting my shows, I've handed flyers to Dave Benson Phillips, Les Dennis, Christopher Biggins, Terry Gilliam and Belinda Belinda Belinda off of Big Brother. None of them came to see the show. Belinda admired the graphic design on the flyer though.

Anyway, this year we were sharing a dressing room with the one and only Lionel Blair. One day I came in to change into my costume, only to find it lying all over the dressing room floor. Lionel Blair had only gone and nicked my coat hanger! Apparently he'd forgotten to bring one himself. Cheeky bastard.

Also, he used to dance about in his pants before going on stage.
(Iaino, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 13:54, Reply)

Oliver Reed
Not my story unfortunately.

A friend used to drink in a rural Essex pub occasionally frequented by the great man. By her account he had an impressive sense of humour as you'd expect and was rarely short of a come back.

Anyway, our hero is relieving himself in the gents when a young chap sidles up at the next urinal and looks him up and down.

"That's not a very impressive one is it Oliver?" he says.

Without a pause, the actor replies.

"That may be so dear chap, but it has been inside Raquel Welch".
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 14 Oct 2009, 13:52, 10 replies)

Not my story but...
Since this is apocraphyl, I'm not quite sure it fits in this qotw, but as a celeb story I like it, so tough. As an actor you quickly get to hear who the utter arseholes are and less often who the nice ones are.

There's a lovely story that I heard about Sean Connery from another actor I know, on the 1979 film The Great Train Robbery.

It centres around Michael Elphick who used to be Boon in the 80s and in the last few years of his life was a regular on Eastenders. Elphick was a legendary boozer and his alcohol problems almost certainly contributed to his early death.

Anyhoo, on the set of this film, he arrives one morning with a stinking hangover, having been in the hotel bar most of the night and he doesn't know his lines - at all. Now this is bad, very bad. If you hold up filming because you've been on the sauce all night and you're a small part, you'll probably cost the production a lot of money.

Result is you'll get fired and the damage to your reputation as a professional doesn't bear thinking about. So understandably, Elphick as well as feeling like shit is slightly nervous. He arrives on set stinking like a brewery, says hello to Connery who acknowledges him with a slightly surprised glance, and then he quickly tries to knuckle down to get his lines in.

Half an hour later he's on set for a scene with Connery and he's shitting himself. Scene starts, Elphick gets his first couple of lines out and then... miracle of miracles... Connery screws up!

2nd take, Connery stumbles through his first lines, Elphick gets through his next couple of lines, and then Connery does it again - dries like an 8 year old doing the school Christmas show.

3rd take, 4th take, 5th take and the same thing keeps happening, they get a little bit further each time and then Connery keeps screwing up - to the extent that he's starting to look like an amateur.

Elphick meanwhile is starting to get on top of his lines and is thinking that Connery really isn't all that impressive as an actor, but, hey, he's the star so what can you do?

After another few fruitless takes, Connery apologises to the cast and crew, and asks if he can take a break for 20 minutes to get his head sorted, and when they come back, they'll do the scene in a take and be done with it.

Elphick can't believe his luck, and so goes outside for a quick coffee and cigarette. As he's stubbing his fag out round one of the backs of the trailers, Connery walks round the corner and says 'Alright Michael, do you think you know your lines now?'

Connery had deliberately screwed up every single take to help Michael Elphick out and save his reputation. Connery as the huge star could get away with it. So, if anyone gives you any nasty gossip about Sean Connery, don't believe a word - they don't come much nicer.
(sugar_tits, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 13:45, 6 replies)

He entered a marathon once
I once bumped into comedy legend Arthur Smith and hailed him. "Do I owe you money?" he replied.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 13:42, Reply)

Mention of Clive Mantle
reminds me that a couple of years ago I saw him at a certain northern university known for its fresh air and science, presumably bringing a daughter or son for a look around.

Told my mates and they all sneaked a look, and agreed it was him, but I was prevented from harrassing him by Steph who's posh and has met lots of famous people and wasn't impressed.

Couldn't stop us milling around whispering 'I need two units!' and 'Stand clear!' though.
(Juan Quar is clinging to her front teeth on, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 13:37, Reply)

Stand up
I went to see Rob Newman performing at the Colchester Arts Centre ten years ago. He's long been a comedy hero of mine ever since the days of The Mary Whitehouse Experience, suffice it is to say I wasn't disappointed.

After the gig the place emptied quite quickly, I was in no hurry so I decided to get a pint in to give the nearby multi storey time to clear a bit. The great man himself was sipping an orange juice at the bar and nodded to me before asking what I thought of his act.

He seemed genuinely pleased when I told him I really enjoyed it and had been a fan of his for a long time. He even bought me the pint for my trouble.

Nice guy, I really must start buying his books sometime.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Wed 14 Oct 2009, 13:14, 2 replies)

I was at a Betchadupa gig a couple years back
I was shuffling towards the door to escape the horrid support band, pushing my way through the densely-packed crowd, when some bastard decides to stop and have a chat on his way out the door. The whole crowd of people shuffling towards the door are suddenly packed in like sardines. I look up and see that the lovely gentleman I'm squashed up against is none other than Neil Finn, of Crowded House fame. I gave a faint smile of recognition, and he gave a faint smile back. I managed to blurt something really suave like "you're cool!", and he gave a weak "uh... thanks".

This would have been all good and well except that our faces were only a couple of inches apart, and the line didn't start moving again for quite some time. I stood there being man-sandwiched against one of my musical heroes, and yet somehow it wasn't a pleasant experience.

Length? At least two long, awkward minutes before I managed to find a gap in the crowd and get the hell out of there.
(gdp, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 12:54, Reply)

Sorry, no rudeness...
After watching practice at the Spanish Grand Prix in 2002, my wife and I were walking back around the circuit when she spotted Ross Brawn chatting with one of his Ferrari colleagues. I suppose we were a bit rude to interrupt (the woman he was talking to seemed bit miffed) but Ross was more than happy to have a chat and to have his picture taken. No airs and graces, just a really nice down to earth bloke.

Saw Christian Ronaldo in the local Sainsburys around Xmas a few years ago, my wife got his autograph, I didn't recognise him, just looked like a young kid to me...I don't do football, although I believe he does quite a bit of acting these days? ;-)
(RTFM May your god go with you, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 12:16, Reply)

Well...
I raped Katie Price when she was still Jordan
(The Boy Monders I have ginger bits in my beard., Wed 14 Oct 2009, 12:06, 3 replies)

just remembered
I live round the corner from Myral Sayal.

Most of us local types leave her be when she's wandering down the high street. Usually cos it looks like she hasnt slept for a week and we just want to leave the poor dear alone.

usually u can see some wannabe crie OMG and rush over to her, she always appears gracious though.

erm thats it

prolly wasnt worth posting

oh - a mate of mine once jizzed on Letitia Dean at a party. She wanked him off in the corner and when the moment came for his happy custard to spludge all over her, she shouted "OMG he came on me".
Not quite sure what she was expecting to happen, but I never got the impression she was the brightest of short, fat, ugly, pig-faced mingers.
(EvilMeister, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 12:03, 1 reply)

This was not my own achievement
But I would like to raise a toast to someone who commented on the Guardian website under one of Tracy Emin's pretentious, slobbering excuses for a column.

This "article" of hers was in response to some proposition from Parliament to put a 50% tax on any monies earned over something like £150k. You know, those kind of salaries that even bankers put in 10+ years' hard work to achieve. She declared that if this was introduced, she'd emigrate to France, "where they are more supportive of the art community" or some-such bollocks (read: "so I can keep a larger proportion of the obscene amount of money I'm due from whatever arse-shaving of a project I'm working on currently")

So, lady-b3tans and gentle-b3tans: I really hope she reads the comments that are posted, because I would propose a toast, nay, I would like to buy a pint for, the chap who simply commented with
"Au revoir, then, you money-grabbing mare."
(LongJohnBaldry, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 12:03, Reply)

TFI
Anyone remember Will from TFI Friday? This story is not about him. It's about the guy who replaced him - Chris Worthington, or "Woth" as we knew him at school.

He was once sick on me during the Upper School's production of The Taming of the Shrew. So, yeah.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 11:48, Reply)

My mate's younger brother
had a small part (fnar) in Harry Potter. This news then became "he's Harry Potter" once the rest of his family knew about it.

That's all I've got...I just wanted to belong! *slopes off*
(RVD420 has his world coming down on, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 11:28, 2 replies)

I went to school with a kid
Who had a small role in London's Burning.

That's it.
(TheManWithThePlan cussed your mum on, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 11:15, Reply)

Apparently I live in the same street as "Chelsea" from Eastenders
...or so my next-door neighbour tells me. I haven't seen it for years so I can't confirm or deny this, though my housemate who's a lot more local than I am says that it's possible, as he used to go to school with her.
( emvee cruor deo cruoris, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 11:01, 1 reply)

Going to comedy gigs
and festivals as I do, it's inevitable that you bump in to a few people, stammer out your admiration, take a terrible picture and be on your way - Ross Noble, Tim Minchin, Phill Jupitus and Ricky Wilson of Kaiser Chiefs fame to name but a few. This is not a story about one of these times. This is a story about the only time I've been starstruck - not even by a particularly impressive celebrity - and made a massive, massive knob of myself.

It was Christmas 2007, and for my sins I was working in WHSmiths over the university holidays. I'd worked there on and off during college and uni for five years or so, and I could do the job asleep. In fact, I frequently did do the job entirely switched off from the neck up, whilst still retaining more basic functions and manners than most of the frantic sales shoppers.
I think it was one of the days between Christmas and New year that most people have to work, so it was fairly busy but not heaving. I happened to glance up from my stupor and noticed a rather handsome chap in the queue staring at the floor.

'Gosh', thought I. 'He looks really like the one out of British indie band 'The Libertines' that isn't that smackhead Pete Docherty.' The queue shuffles forward slowly, and I stare at him a bit. It really DOES look like him - but it can't be. Why would he be in a shitty wee northern backwater like my town? He's noticed me staring by now, so I time my transaction so that he has to come to my till. He chucks some notepads and pens on the desk and proffers me a weak, slightly nervous, slightly hungover smile. I scan his stuff, and he hands me his switch card face down so I can't see the name. I know it's impolite but I can't help myself - I twiddle it round to look at the little silver embossed letters on the front which do indeed say 'Mr C Barat'. My eyes shoot back to his now rather embarrassed face and I hear myself gasp out 'the Carl Barat? From the Libertines?'. He chuckles wearily - 'yeah'.
Silence. I think to myself - just smile, make a generic compliment and let this poor man go on his way. Keep it simple, calm and suave. Calm and suave. Calmandsuave calmandsua - oh shit he's taking his card back - 'Oh, I just love your work' I gush. 'It's marvellous, really - I do hope Dirty Pretty Things release a new album soon.' I pick up his carrier bag of stuff and offer it to him like I do with every customer, but in my trembling fangirl haste I offer it just a little too hard, and it goes flying out of my fingers and hits him in the chest. He mumbles thanks and shoots out of the shop like his arse is on fire. Poor man.

I spent the rest of the day in a fog of hot, glowing shame and embarrassment.
(berk, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 10:55, 1 reply)

Big Man, Small Car and other local heroes
Clive Mantle (Casualty consultant and Dawn French's early doors fancy piece in The Vicar of Dibley) must be top end 6 footer folded not ever so neatley in a white Lada riva pulling out of a junction outside of Bristol and Bath, so no so much met but waved him out as I was waiting at the other side, had the courtesy to nod in appreciation, thought he would have been able to afford sommat better, so more sympathy than general road politeness.

Graham Purches, of HTV news and BBC News fame at a petrol station opposite HTV studios, was pretty up himself, so made sure to do a short fill and cut in front of him in the queue, that'll learn 'im.

Tony Target, BBC Bristol et environs weatherman, in 21 Corn Street (It's a bar) on NYE 2001, was in for a pre-forecast loosener, dressed in tweed suit, leather elbow patches, and trousers that were too short, white socks and either plimsoles or dunlop green flashes. Didn't think of saying anything as he seemed to be embarrassing himself quite well as it was.

Not me though but in The Academy (Club next to the ice rink on frogmore st as it was then)at Massive Attack's Christmas Party my mate came out of the bogs gurning like a fool to annouce "I've just had a piss next to Daddy G", and then closely followed by him waiting after opening a door for someone to come through before traversing himself only to be ingnored by the premiere portal utiliser, stating loudly as he fella went by "Thank you!!" in a necessarily sarcastic manner, only to realise then it was Rob Del Naja or 3D, really ingratiated himself by insulting 1/3rd of the band and nearly doing a white wee next to another 1/3rd!
( Radebe, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 10:45, Reply)

Wardrobe Malfunction! Wardrobe Malfunction!
Back in my early twenties I used to be a big fat fucker. If you gave me a choice between sex with a beautiful woman or a plate of donuts, I’d have chosen the donuts anytime. And after I’d polished off the donuts, licking the sugary goodness and saturated fat off my fingers, I’d probably have made full use of this beautiful woman by getting her to go out and pick me up a shitload more donuts. Then one day I realised enough was enough and I lost so much weight you could’ve made an exact replican of Susan Boyle with the excess flab. But being a bloke it took me a good long while to realise that I’d have to, grudgingly, fork out for a new wardrobe. My jeans and t-shirt were literally hanging off me. It came to a head when I was in that there fancy London visiting a mate for a long, lazy weekend.

We were strutting down Oxford Street, soaking in the sights, when I noticed someone famous was doing a book signing in Borders. It was none other than Ian Wright, the footballer and allround wideboy gobshite. Now, I really didn’t give a shit about Ian Wright. But my friend who was a dyed in the wool Arsenal supporter did. So we ended up joining a pretty long line of fanboys wanting to get the autobiography of this great mind of our age signed (probably with an ‘X’ in crayon).

As I’ve mentioned, I was now a thin man (well, thinner) wearing a fat man’s cloths. The main problem with this was that I didn’t own a belt. Never needed one before. In my previous fat life a belt was about as useful and practical to me as a virginity testing kit would be for Jordan. So I’m stood in line, hands in pockets, sort of holding my jeans up by clamping them against my legs. Occasionally reaching down to give them a tug if they slipped out of position. I’m starting to lose the will to live. The line isn’t moving fast enough.

But eventually we get to the front. Ian Wright grins a big toothy grin. Seems like a nice enough fella up close. My mate’s extatic, I think he might have got a sudden and rampant hard on at the sight of this slightly muscular black dude with a flat top haircut. My mate steps forward, offering a copy of Ian Wright’s autobiography for the great man to sign. In doing so he automatically passes me his shopping bags (we’d already been on Oxford Street for fucking ages). I automatically reached out both hands to take the bags.

My jeans automatically slip off my lithe frame and I effectively show one of England’s greatet ever footballers (allegedly) my wrinkled pants. This was made even worse because in the morning when I was getting ready, trying to do ten things at the same time, rushing round my mates kitchen wearing only my underwear, I accidentally dropped my toast into my lap. I remember brushing off the mess thinking: no one’s gonna see my pants, fuck it, doesn’t matter. So I didn't bother changing them.

Terrible thing is I had marmite on toast that morning. Ian Wright was very amused. His agent thought for one breif moment I was going to try and bum rape his client, standing there as I was with my jeans round my ankles, wearing shit-smeared boxers. To try and make the situation a little easier to bear I remember saying: "It's ok look," and reaching down, rubbing some of the brown stain onto my finger, and then raising it to my lips to lick and taste.
(Pastabator earned his brown wings with your girlfriend on, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 10:26, 6 replies)

I was delivering drinks to a 'cafe rouge' in highgate
and had nowhere else to park, so I pulled up behind an empty, parked sports car.
imagine my delight when I arrived back, some minutes later, to find that I had blocked in the beautiful Mandy Smith (then, Bill Wyman's squeeze), who charmingly called over to me - "Oi c***, move that f****** van!"
(essexfriend, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 10:04, Reply)

I love this story
My friend's cousin was mistaken for Colin Farrell by Colin Farrell's mum - well he was sleeping in his bed!
(deadly_sinners, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 9:38, 2 replies)

Not me
But my missus has met Mark Felix at a petrol station in Accrington. Nice bloke apparently.

Also, I have shook hands with both of the hairy bikers (of Hairy Biker's Cookbook fame).
(Flap Burger hasn't really got a burger made of flaps, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 8:45, Reply)

I might have met
Erwin Schrodinger.
(apeloverage committed the vile act of onanism on, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 7:38, 15 replies)

Charles Dance et al
That Rory bloke with the redface & beard used to frequent my pub quite a lot...never abused me despite being often quite pished..bottle of red wine and some crisps for the train ride home...lovely fella...
Not like that Picasso who I had in the back of my cab the other night, and Betrand Russell...don't get me started...
GET OUT THE CAB!
(catflap I went out with Nicholas Parsons, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 7:09, 1 reply)

So there's this girl on YouTube.
It was a while ago and I can't remember what her username was. But I never realized how popular a 13-year-old Lolli brat could be.

So my 16-year-old self was trolling YouTube and I happened across this girl who was doing the caramelldansen dance. She was just awful. I mean seriously. She was 13, skinny, with long hair and a sort of emo/sweet lolli dress. She had goddamn fuzzy earmuffs on. She had her own show about her life in London. She paused to stare into her webcam during the show. She censored her comments so that no one could read any negativity she got.

I thought I was completely within reason to make fun of her.

But apparently she has a wide following and for the few hours after I made a single snarky remark about her school life and the whereabouts of her parents and why they would leave their daughter alone with a webcam, I was completely flooded with hate mail condemning me for making fun of such a sweet young girl. Words cannot describe my disbelief at the amount. She quickly got on her account (probably after being tipped off by one of her followers) she hid my comment and proceeded to launch a mini hate campaign against my account. ME, who has no video uploads, no YouTube friends, and who makes it clear in her very brief profile that she is only here to subscribe to Yu Gi Oh the Abridged Series.

To this day, I am being spammed with porn-ados.

There is that, and the time I accidentally criticized The Ask-A-Ninja ninja in front of a bunch of fanatics. Lame, I know.
(Schrodinger's Cat says "Meh.", Wed 14 Oct 2009, 5:24, 2 replies)

The greatest entertainer of all time
MR ROLF HARRIS.

Shit I can't believe I nearly forgot this one.

When I was a little fella of about 7, I, with a bunch of young mates saw Rolf Harris in the General Store on Rottenest Island, just off the coast from Perth.

Now many of you may not know (probably because you are in such awe of his true entertaining genius) that before being famous Rolf used to be a camera man for a Perth television station in the early days of Australian TV. I know this because my mum was an amateur actor who appeared several times on TV in Perth in it's early days and none other than the Big R Harris was the camera man.

Anyway, I felt that it was my duty to rush up to Rolfy boy with half a dozen 7 year olds in tow and tell him that he knew my mum. I could tell he wasn't really that interested when he replied at full volume (to children mind you)

"OH fuck off you little cunts, I am trying to have a quiet weekend with my family!" - I swear it is true.

I was horrified, I was mortified, I was angry. How dare this legend of the didgeridoo, the wobble board, kangaroo molesting and three legged pedophiles who KNEW MY MUM, be so rude to me.

Now for those who are not familiar with Rottenest Island, there are no cars, the only transport is push bikes or walking. My mates and I decided that the only real course of action was to follow old Rolf home with his shopping and stand across the street from his holiday cabin and shout intelligent abuse at him such as "Hey Rolf you are a stinky poo bum" and lob sand bombs onto his roof.

And do you know what the bearded fucker did?

He called the fucking cops................ on 7 year olds.

I must admit the young constable did look a little bemused when he arrived to this hardened gang of criminal 7 year olds, and clearly fearing for his safety decided not to enact an arrest but, suggested,

"I know Mr Harris can be a bit of cranky old man but, you have had your fun now, so its time to leave him in peace".

Which we did, and begged the cop to give us a ride in his paddy wagon, which he didn't.

THE CUNT!
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 4:52, 4 replies)

Live Long and Prosper
Many years ago we were hack inspectors watching the taxis at JFK when a thin blonde came out of the terminal and asked if she could hold a cab for her boy friend, who was kind of shy. I shrugged at my partner, Frank, saying, "We ain't dispatchers," but said to the blonde, "Go ahead, lady." She hopped into a cab at the curb, leaving the door open. She was quickly followed by a stocky guy with curly brown hair, who ducked down and slammed the door. The cab pulled forward about a yard and was stuck right in front of us in traffic.
The guy looked up through the window at us and it was WILLIAM SHATNER!!!! I was impressed.
Frank was thunderstruck. He stood there with his mouth open, frozen, and then gave the Vulcan "Live Long and Prosper" sign with both his hands.
Shatner winced and bent his head down so he could hold the bridge of his nose with his right hand.
Wow! Just like on television!
(Blob, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 4:48, Reply)

Not exactly, but...
My dad used to be the catering manager for the National Film Theatre. Because of this, he got to meet quite a few celebrities at premieres and special events. One of these events was for a Bond film (I think View to a Kill or Octopussy, can't remember as I wasn't quite born then meself) So my dad has 4 tickets, and as well as he and my mum invites along one of my aunts and her husband.

Upon arrival, said aunt begins freaking out that Sean Connery is at the screening. My Dad offers to introduce her, at which point she almost has a panic attack and, desperately trying to change the subject, asks him what he does. "Oh nothing" my dad says "I just stand around and tell people where the toilets are" They laugh, order is restored.

5 minutes later Sean Connery comes up and taps my dad on the shoulder, and in a low voice asks "Hey Frank... where are the toilets?"
(Azrepheal Just cos Im pure evil, doesnt make me a bad person, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 4:30, Reply)

Not me but a mate's dad
who grew up in Edinburgh told me that he used get his milk delivered by Sean Connery before he was famous. I was very impressed with this. I have since found out that Sean Connery must have been the worlds fastest milk man because it seems that every Scottish cunt over the age of 50 I have ever met had his milk delivered by Sean fucking Connery.

Now I just think all Scottish people are big fibbers.
(bad_advice QOTW survivor from the first trollocost!, Wed 14 Oct 2009, 4:29, 4 replies)