Classical hero
My partner made us wander around the suburbs of Rome for hours just to go to Via Cicerone. There is nothing interesting there, it is just a small street named after Cicero, in an area of Rome that wouldn't even have existed when Cicero was alive. We had already been to the Curia in the Forum, where my man couldn't stop going on about how Cicero had actually been in there and made so and so speech etc, but we still had to waste some of our brief sightseeing holiday just to take a photo of the sign on the street named after him.
(CaraVAGgio, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:58, Reply)

Natalie Imbruglia
I'm my brothers biggest fan.

He's a cameraman and does music videos as well as TV, well a few years back when Natalie Imbruglia was 1st moving into Pop, he was part of the crew filming the video for one of her songs, and there was a period where she wasn't going to be required for a bit and so she asked if someone could show her a bit of London.

Well my brother lived in Balham at the time so volunteered to take her out, as you would!
He turns to her and said Pub?
she says yes,
so he rings his mates as its early evening and casually asks if they fancy a pint.
Later on they arrive as hes standing by the bar, start nudging each other and saying " look isn't that that bird off Neighbours" and my brothers like "Yep, shes with me" and much hero worship ensues. Anyway meant to be a nice girl as well as looking great.

He's also rung my dad on fathers day whilst Pavarotti did a sound check in the Albert Hall - and my old man gets a private concert via mobile - I hate him really, how do you top that?
(sproutout Aardvarks you gotta love 'em, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:56, 6 replies)

i'm a big fan of steven fry
so i've kept myself from commenting on his twitter so that he has enough time to get down to writing another book.
I'm sure that counts.
(Fuckpig "That's not even a pound a midget.", Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:42, 2 replies)

Friends in low places
My wife swears this to be true and because she's my wife I believe her. It’s also my favourite meeting your hero story.
Mid 90's Ireland was a strange place. In such strange places and times the cretin Garth Brooks was able to sell out huge shows night after night.

Anyway Mrs Monkey had a school pal who adored Mr Brooks. Adored. The girl was infatuated. Like I say mid 90's Ireland, strange place. Garth Brooks is playing Dublin that week. Luckily for the "Garthlover" her daddy was quite the bigwig with contacts with the promoters. He arranged for the Garthlover to meet the Stetson wearing turd after the gig. Lovely for her.

Come night of the gig she sings her heart out from the front row. All the time thinking of the moment when she'd get to meet her hero. The more she thought about it the more the nerves started to jangle. However she put it to the back of her mind and enjoyed the gig.

The gig ended. She's brought back stage and is told to wait outside Garth's dressing room with black clad security guy. Now nerves really do set in. The excitement! The tension! The person she adored more than any other was the other side of a door.

Finally they're just ready to bring her in when the security guy sniffs the air. He wrinkles his nose. Garthlover goes crimson and looks at her shoes. Now there's an even stronger smell and Garthlover spins away from the security guy, away from the door and runs (waddles) away.
Yes. She had well and truly shat herself. Bizarrely she felt compelled to share this information with her school pals on the Monday morning. I just wish she’s held her nerve and subjected Brooks to the type of steaming shit that he subjected upon us for too long.
(jackdonaghy has a special helmet, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:37, 3 replies)

Kojak
Years ago, I was taken for a day out in Ayr with my mum, dad and mate ... I can't have been more than 6 or 7. We were shopping, but if we were good we might get to go to the play park by the sea.

Not much chance of that as my mate was getting a little rambunctious and being a little bastard.

On seeing a bald man get out of a car he shouted something like, 'hoi baldy!' (we were very young). Giggling and joining in I shouted, 'yeah, Hi Kojak', at which point Telly Savalas turned round and gave us a wave.

He was in Troon, just down the road, for the golf.
( Cheeses of Nazareth Where's Captain Kirk? www.whereiskirk.com, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:36, Reply)

Ol Flo
When I was younger (About 9/10- ish), my best friend was a rather religious type; with a rather religious family.

I've never been overly religious myself, but I was invited to come to a 'festival' by my best friend's family. Unbeknownst to me, it was a Christian festival; with a few game stalls and stuff thrown in.

I was utterly bored for the whole day; but at least I got to meet Floella Benjamin and get her autograph.

Apparently I was also held as a baby by some bloke from London's Burning.

Every cloud.
(Purple_Monkey_Jingles Purple Monkeys need love too, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:12, Reply)

Celebrity Cricket
It was late summer 2001. England had just spanked zee Germans 5-1 in the footie and I'd spent the previous day moving my stuff into my first house in Reading.

A bunch of us decided to go to the annual "celebrity" cricket match hosted at Bray Cricket Club by Michael Parkinson. A chance to get pissed up in the sunshine whilst heckling Ralph Little and Rolph Harris and perving at Carol Vorderman in a summer dress.

It was getting to late afternoon, we were all pretty much the worse for wear when Parkie and his missus come over to our small group to sell us some raffle tickets. At this point, my mate Prior pipes up:

Prior: "Ere, Parkie I've had a fucking brilliant weekend!"

Parkie: "Why's that young man?"

Prior: "I've just moved house, I'm getting sloshed up in the sunshine with my mates and last night I got laid!"

Parkie: (completely deadpan) "Sounds great - shall I put you down for 10 tickets?"

bless him!
(mcgriffto, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:11, 2 replies)

I’ve had quite a few meeting with the famous folk of our time.
I used to go to MTV’s Total Request Live at least twice a week in Leicester Square and I got quite pally with the presenters especially Emma Good and Dave Berry. I did meet Alex Zane at the final episode and I got to stand with all four presenters at the end of this show to watch Mint Royale perform their singing in the rain remix.
It was great to have Emma and Dave remember me and to come up and chat to me during the breaks, much to the envy of pretty much everyone else!

I’ve also seen Alex present T4 at the O2 festival 2 years ago and got really close to Calvin Harris but didn’t talk to him.

I am a hard dance promoter so I do a lot of work with some of the industry’s top DJ’s and most of the time my job is to make sure that the DJs have all their equipment set up and that they are happy. Its great to be at places like the Brixton Academy backstage seeing 2,000 people dancing like mad.

I had been working at a club in Vauxhall which the company I was employed by owned so I was hovering backstage generally causing havoc and chatting to people. My only flaw in what would be a perfect job is that I was still new to the scene and I didn’t know who any one was! So I was chatting away to a guy when my friend started pulling on my arm and asking me why I was talking to one of the top dj’s called Greg Brookman about total crap!
I didn’t have a clue who it was but we got on really well and when the club shut I was about to head home (to my boyfriend and my bed) when the DJ came up and asked me if I wanted to go to his house!

I said ok and that I would leave a message for my fella as he wouldn’t be up yet (it was 6am) and Greg asked if He could leave it for Him, I said ok, not realising that Greg was very drunk and has a silly sense of humour.

The message went like this: “Hi mate, you wanna watch ya missus, She was throwing stones at me and then sat on my chest! Anyway She’s coming to my house so don’t worry and we’ll see you later!”

Then He hung up! I couldn’t believe what He had said and that He hadn’t left His name. So you can imagine the phone call I got a few hours later…


“Hi Soaps, are you ok? Where are you? Whats this message all about?”

I replied: “It was Greg Brookman, He was messing about! I’m at His house now watching a film, are you coming over?”

Now boyfriend is a bit fan of Greg’s so you can imagine that He didn’t believe me at first so I asked Greg to talk to Him.

So I pass the phone to Greg and He says “Hi mate, yeah it’s Greg, are you coming over to watch a film?”

Boyfriend splutters reply and makes way over. He was totally humbled at how cool He was and at how He had managed to abduct me!

Alas Boyfriend and myself are no longer together but I still see Greg sometimes and I have accidentally managed to call Him on new years eve to wish Him happy new year only to find out that He was playing at the time!

I’ve seen Les Dennis in Liverpool, He let me and my new fella through some road works and I said thank you even though new fella had totally missed Him!
I’ve have Jennifer Ellison bump in to me which was a pleasant experience! (they were both in Liverpool to do Cinderella)

I’ve also seen Nick Knowles (from DIY SOS fame) on the Kings road in London but I didn’t bother Him. And the sparky Billy from the same show is from the same home town as me, I went to school with His daughters and I saw Him on the train going home the last time I visited home.

I guess that I’m the kind of fan that will see some one famous but not like to bother them, more than likely because of my job. Most of the time I just see these celebrities as normal people, just ones that are more talented than others.

Length? 3 1/2 years in the music industry and counting!
(Soaps Roller derbying your way since, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:09, 2 replies)

Let's pretend that we're dead...
In 1991 I went to a gig by my fave all girl band (who shall remain nameless) and was invited backstage afterwards. They were all very nice and shared copious amounts of chemicals with me until I was unsure what planet I was on.

The night ended with me having a quickie up against the back of the tour bus with the one of said ladies. How is that for exceeding fans expectations.

The only other hero I met was Tommy Cooper when I was 9 but that was nothing like the above. (He smelt of wee and whiskey.)
(Tugnut I got them all..., Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:08, 14 replies)

Celebrity date wreckage
When I was still (barely) a teenager the world was a very different place. For starters, Big Brother was only a concept in a fiction novel, while reality text-vote-televisual diarrhoea was still a twinkle in the eye of an arrogant fourth rate girl band producer.

My world of 1993 wasn’t quite a utopian delight though, mainly because I was single and admiring an unknowing fair maiden from afar during the long drag of our Saturday shifts at a popular chain of newsagents.

Over a number of weeks I gradually got to know her during our shared breaks. The willowy, pretty sixteen year old object of my affections began to warm to my humour. It took time, but Kate began to greet my shambling appearance on a Saturday morning with an awkward smile and would seemingly linger round the staff room as if to see what I had planned during lunchtimes. For my part, her dazzling white and welcoming smile seemed to take the edge of my Friday night hangovers far better than any post-binge fry up ever could.

And they said I was an unromantic bastard.

Amongst the other Saturday staffers, I had a largely deserved reputation of being the “nice guy”, so I played that card as often as I could to help slowly break down the walls of Kate’s innate shyness. Obviously she was inexperienced with the ways of men, but there was the unmistakeable sign of certain awkward flirtatiousness as her confidence with me grew. We laughed, joked and found a mutual escape from the drudgery of taking money from the public with a forced smile while wrapping their pulp, paper-backed purchases in flimsy carrier bags.

And then one afternoon the Saturday staff arranged an evening out for drinks. I sat there expectantly in the staff room when Kate emerged from the ladies’ locker room looking absolutely sensational. Her legs seemingly went on and on forever, her knitted top showed a glimpse of silky shoulders which begged to be held firmly by my hands. Her normally bare face was brought alive with a subtle touch of lipstick. The signals were far off the radar of my colleagues but I knew for sure that those gentle, hitherto untouched lips were demanding that I kiss them passionately.

Three hours later, while she was waiting for her father to pick her up I did just that.

As she scooted off in the direction of her father’s Ford Orion she called back to me.

“Can we meet for a drink in the week?”

Yes. Yes, yes, yes!

Four days afterward, I was stood outside the smoky pub that was for a brief while the social epicentre for everyone who was anyone at my Sixth Form college. Kate appeared looking sensational yet again, so thanking my stars I escorted her inside under the dark oaken beams and ordered a round of drinks before heading to a corner table to chat.

We talked, Kate still slightly awkward and shy despite the intensity of the previous weekend’s kiss. Despite my intentionally gentle banter, my veins were flooded with those squirming hormones that marinade in your underpants. I was in dammit. Being a nice guy got me in for once. Only an utterly hideous and unforeseen event could ever prevent me from holding her close to me and kissing her passionately again later on.

A hand clapped on my shoulder shook me out of my erotic waking dream.

“Hello PJM!”

I turned my head to see who it was and was relieved when it turned out to be a casual college acquaintance of Irish extraction with neatly parted hair and twinkling blue eyes, whom I’d occasionally conversed with at this very pub over Friday night pints

“You don’t normally drink here on a Wednesday night!” he smiled, in his familiar and disarming way that screamed “nice” to anyone within forty miles.

And then it happened.

“Kate, this is…”

And at that moment I saw her eyes flicker. They were still full of the same desire and flirtatiousness, but they were no longer looking at me. They were pointed toward my cleanly cut friend.

And that was that. Kate and I dated briefly, but we never kissed passionately again. I never did hold those silken shoulders in my palms or pull her towards me with my arm around her waist. We remained friends of course, which is why several weeks later she asked if I had my friend’s phone number.

To this day I still feel a twinge of annoyance whenever I see his face on television and my teeth grind when I hear his disarmingly nice patter to disappointed contestants and radio listeners alike.

Damn you Dermot O’Leary. You utter cunt.
(Bicycle Repairman "you're also a bit of a wanker", Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:07, 9 replies)

When I was a tiny flim of a flam...
...I was not your average little girl. While other girls would busy themselves playing with dolls and begging their parents to let them have their ears pierced I was at the bottom of the garden, digging mainly. What was I digging for you might ask… STUFF! I would dig for freedom, I would dig for liberty, I would just plain dig for the love of digging my friends!!

From a young age I wanted more than anything else in the world to find a dinosaur, obviously not understanding that a small garden on a RAF base in Bedfordshire was probably not the best place in the world to search.

Anyhoo, eventually the time came for us to move from the base and we shifted from Bedfordshire to Cambridgeshire so my dad could join the Police force. I was 7 and while I was of course sad to leave my friends behind I was also looking forward to the possibility of a new dig site - woo.

We had moved into a new build home which I later found out was built on top of land which was once a massive dairy farm. Once we arrived I grabbed a trowel and in a matter of days I had dug up most of the back garden and scoured all of the gravel drive looking for fossils, of which there were lots. I had also, much to my mothers horror, dug up half the bones from a cow and found a mouse skull, I was in heaven and things were only going to get better.

Starting at my new school I had pretty much told everyone about my digging habits and brought in my collection of misc boney/stoney crap to share with all those around me on our Nature Table. At the end of term I had a lot to carry home and struggled out the gate with bursting bags. It was raining and I had managed to fall over and drop my bag on the floor. Hearing the thud I knew I had broken my prize possession, a massive cow bone (I can't for the life of me remember what it was now - I think it was a femur bone) I sat on the floor and cried. I noticed a car pull up alongside me and my headmistress got out, she picked me off the floor and asked what was wrong. I sobbed and told her about the bone breaking. She got up and tapped on the window of the car. A man got out and introduced himself as Mr Howe.

It turned out Mr Howe worked at a museum in Peterborough and was a curator, he was very interested to see what I had in the bag. He asked if he could borrow my findings and bring them back after the weekend. I let him go and was dusted off and sent on my way. The following week my headmistress asked me to come to her office where she gave me a letter, it was from her husband and he had painstakingly drawn around each stone and explained in full detail, where they had come from, how old they were, what sort of fossil was imbedded etc. he had also managed to glue my bone back together again, and you could hardly tell it was broken. I was amazed and from that day on Mr Howe was my hero! I visited him at the museum in Peterborough and I would send him anything I found. He would always reply with beautiful letters, written with elegant swooping text explaining what I had ‘discovered’. He really did make me feel like an adventurer.

Sadly Mr Howe is no longer with us, he died of cancer when I was 10 and with him went my dream of becoming an archaeologist/geologist. I still have the letters and treasure them to this day, he will always be a hero to me, simply because he took the time to show an interest in me and never once treated me like a child.
(Flim-Flam the Magnificent "You is talking loco and I like it!", Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:07, 13 replies)

Steve Coogan
Well, where do I start... I used to live in the building that was the original Factory Records HQ... got a call one day from the landlord (non other than alan erasmus, ex director of factory) asking if we would like to give some film company access to our flat to be used as a green room as they were filming "24 Hour Party People" in the flat below. No brainer. We said yes.

Roll forward a few weeks, door bell goes at some ungodly hour (7 in the morning or something) - loads of filmy style people camped on our doorstep with camera things (n' shit). Everyone troops up to our flat, and in walks Steve Coogan. Sits down. And unwraps a foil wrapped cheese sandwich and starts eating.

Not particularly exciting, but it seemed more like his alternate persona "Mr Partridge" than Steve Coogan. Oh, and he had an anorak. And he was a bit of a grunting twat.

Anyway, we later moved into the flat they were filming in - was *very* odd seeing our living room on the screen in the cinema :oP

*pop*

Edit: not really relevant for the QOTW, but I felt the need to pop my QOTW cherry
( wideeye slightly pickled, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 14:01, Reply)

Woooh Nelly
I saw nelly furtado in the bbc building in white city and ended up getting chased by her bodyguards cos my mate dared me to asked her to get her tits out.

And i didn't even get to see a nip either
(NuffMuff fucks shrubbery, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:57, 3 replies)

Gossip and cunnilingus
I have a friend at Uni – let’s call her Anne, for that is her etc etc – who is a huge fan of The Gossip. Now personally I think they’re utter shite, it’s a load of rubbish musicians obscured by a horrendously obese woman who seems to think people will appreciate her getting naked.

As a humourous aside, I remember being at Reading Festival and seeing the aforementioned band perform. The sound of 30,000 people simultaneously groaning through a cringe as she bent over to the crowd in a tiny thong (let’s face it, anything is tiny on her) will live with me forever.

Anyway, one day Anne says to me that she has two tickets to a Gossip gig at Brixton Academy. At the last minute, the friend that she was meant to be going with dropped out and she asked if I wanted to go. Initially I wanted to run a mile but then Anne said, “it’s no problem if you can’t, I can go on my own.”

Now, I may hate The Gossip but not enough to let my attractive female friend go to Brixton alone late at night. So I rearranged my busy schedule (who am I kidding?) and agreed to go. I will admit that the knowledge that Anne would be dolled up, drunk and possibly aroused by seeing her favourite band was a big factor.

We left, got to the gig, queued for an unimaginably stupid amount of time and got in. I was going for free so I could hardly complain but it was shit. I stuck with it though and Anne enjoyed it so I could tune out the dull music, close my eyes when Ditto stripped and bask in the warm fuzzy glow of a good deed for the day.

Of course when the encore was over I thought I was free, but no – Anne wanted to wait outside for the band to leave. Fuck’s sake... by this point I’m committed to the night so I wait outside – in the fucking rain – for the fat bitch and her consort of mediocre musicians. To be fair we weren’t waiting long and the band were out promptly. One thing I will say is they had time for the fans, they spent hours signing albums, posters and body parts. When Beth came to us she signed Anne’s album then looked quizzically at her: “Were you at our gig last week?”

Anne squealed with excitement at being recognised and did the typical gushing “omgyesimlikeyourbiggestfanomgomgomg!” To my incredible shock Beth then asked us both to come with the band to their hotel for drinks. Anne obviously snapped her arm off (but unfortunately didn’t beat her to death with it) and I considered...

Now, I don’t like the band. But it is a band in a genre of music that could be loosely described as “rock”, albeit in the same way that a Suzuki Hayabusa could be loosely described as a “moped”. Therefore, it's a rock band's party. So I thought “fuck it, I’m in this far” and went along.

It was actually pretty awesome. There were ridiculous amounts of drugs (of which I did not partake besides some puff) and ridiculous amounts of drinks (of which I partook heartily) and Anne was positively dripping with excitement talking to Ditto. However, I had to go at about 3am due to work the next day. I spoke to the bassist and he said Anne would get a paid cab back to our flat so I left her to it.

I got in and got to bed around 4 but I was shortly awoken by a rhythmic thumping. I tried to ignore it but it was really quite irritating. I got up, made myself decent and ventured into the hallway down to the front room, where the noise seemed to be coming from.

As I opened the door, I heard a low female moan. I then realised what the noise was, too late – the door was already swinging open and then I saw it. Beth Ditto was sprawled over our sofa like the space blob from a 1950s B-movie, totally naked with pendulous, saggy tits rolling off her monstrous stomach down to her sides. Her oak-trunk legs were splayed to reveal a wet, hairy gash that was being eagerly lapped at by Anne, who buried her head deeper within the folds of flab and flange as Beth bucked and gyrated, thumping the sofa against the wall.

I backed out slowly before returning to bed and lying, trembling, in the foetal position, the horror of the image burnt onto my eyelids whenever I tried to sleep. And all the while I heard the thumps and moans.

And that was my experience for this QOTW – the big guest of Anne.
(MJPerry was crude but clickable at, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:56, 9 replies)

And
I've seen Johnny Vauhn's knob. Whose knob have you seen whats famous?
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:55, 5 replies)

Terry Scott
I saw Terry Scott, out of Terry and June, on Godalming station platform 1! I must have been about 10.

I said "hello can I have your autograph?"
and he replied "get fucked".
( browser still relating boring anecdotes into a void on, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:48, 3 replies)

John Hannah called me a cunt.
Seriously.

I was chatting to him in The Newman Arms (just off Charlotte Street where he’d been filming Sliding Doors)

Well, he actually said ‘Are you a Spurs fan, because you’re acting like one’

Same difference.

And Stephen K. Amos drew my cock. I bet no one famous has ever drawn your cock.
( scarpe We Stole Bikes, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:42, 2 replies)

I don't know about showing devotion, but...
...I've had the good fortune to know one or two great musicians over the years. One of the nicest of these by far is Adrian Portas (played live guitar amongst other things for New Model Army during their big years) - his band War Machines of Love played a low key gig in The Dove and Rainbow in Sheffield a couple years ago. Got to meet the whole band and had a great ol' chat with Adrian about all sorts of things. An absolute gent. And the band rock. :-)

Other nice things have been mail conversations with Marky Ramone and Jake Burns, meeting Andrea Glass at a couple of local gigs, a lot of mail with Darryl Lee Rush, and also one of my songwriting heroes Sam Baker.

So...um...I've shown up at gigs and emailed folks :-) Thats devotion!
(TC, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:34, 1 reply)

Spankys post below reminded me of this incident
Back in 1999 I had entered the telegraphs fantasy football competition and had been the lucky sod that was pulled out of the hat that month and won two tickets to go see a premiership team of my choice. I had chosen Liverpool as my team of choice and was therefore given tickets to go see Liverpool play Bradford at Anfield on a weeknight.

The whole event started in the afternoon where me and a guest (I chose my brother) would be given a full tour of the grounds, a meal with other VIP’s and then allowed to watch the match. The day went well and we must have made a decent impression on the staff of the place as we were given a shitload of freebies to take home with us (I even wrote them a thankyou letter afterwards).

The match ended and me and my bro made our way out of the stadium with our freebie laden Liverpool FC emblazoned kit bag over our shoulders and into the after match crowd. What we did not realise was that the doors we came out were the same doors used by the players after they left the ground so there were a number of fans waiting for autographs.

One of the more die hard Liverpool fans stood near the front of the group grabbed hold of my bro and thrust a notepad in his face “here you go mate sign this will you please” said our new woolly hated chum.

“I think you’ve made a mistake pal” replied my brother “We don’t play for Liverpool”
“Not yet you don’t I know” said the autograph hunter “But you must play for the youth team so you will do one day”

Instead of spending another length of time explaining that we were just some Barnsley lads that had won a fantasy football day out and the kit bag we had was actually full of merchandise like 2 LFC parker pens, 2 LFC ties, 2 matchday programs signed by the team etc etc my bro took the quicker route and signed it, passing it back to mr crazyfan.

Apparently he didn’t want my signature as I had given it to him a few weeks back after a reserves game.
(mon bison powered by magnets, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:12, Reply)

My letter to Chris Barrie
Dear Mr Barrie,

Firstly I would like to say what a huge fan I am, being 23 I watched Red Dwarf whilst quite young (and possibly when my parents weren't looking!). I've been influenced by the humour massively, and love the show, I can honestly say I had tears in my eyes when Rimmer left.
I'm not one to do this sort of thing but I was wondering if I could get a signed autograph?
Being a boy with no arms has been hard, I am, in fact, typing this with my nose and a cleverly constructed stick attached to my forehead made from drinking straws that I found behind the bins where I live. Who could have known such a find would be so useful? The straws even helped me to kill the mice I caught for dinner by using them and some gravel like a jungle blowpipe.
I know you are a very busy man but this one little favour would mean the world to me, with a signed autograph of yourself I could finally take down the Craig Charles one I currently have pinned to my cardboard wall and use it for a pillow, a plate, maybe even a shoe for my one foot.
With your face to encourage me I think I may be able to fight through the infection currently eating away at my eyesight, I just know I could do it.
I'd like to thank you for being such an inspiring character in my life, I feel that when I watch Red Dwarf through the window at the local Dixons even for a few moments before the security send me hopping, my life has meaning.
If you could do this it would be wonderful, I have one friend in the world who would gladly pass the photo on (if you find it in your heart to send one) and funnily enough he is called Sauronwibble, which is my name too!

His details:

Sauronwibble

Thanks again, I'd better go now the lady from PC world has called security and I'd better scarper.

The response:

10-10 for effort.

Chris will really only sign stuff at his appearances as he feels it is more
meaningful that way...
Chances are very slim... but I will forward this on....

Ben (Site Admin)

pissflaps
( SauronWibble I'll hold it, you lick it..., Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:11, 1 reply)

I've had it happen to me...
A couple of times, in fact.

STORY 1
In 2000, I was on a certain television quiz show. My team was rubbish - we were eliminated in the first round - but a couple of weeks after, I was minding my own business in the library when someone came up to me.
"Excuse me... were you on [insert programme title here]?"
"Ummm... yeah."
"Could you sign this?" He handed me a piece of paper.
"What?"
"Sign this?"
"But... er..."
"Oh. Have I embarrassed you?"
"Er, no. Puzzled me, though..."

He looked crestfallen. I sighed and signed. He looked happy, and went away.

STORY 2
In 2004, I did a stint as a schoolteacher; in the evenings, I worked on a bar. I have no teaching qualifications - god bless the independent sector.
Anyway, on the bar one night in the summer holidays, I recognised a student trying to get served. I knew he'd just done his A-levels, so it was OK to sell him booze. But he didn't want booze. He told me I was the best teacher he'd had and asked me to sign a beermat for him.


Both of these stories strike me as a bit creepy, to be honest.
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 13:08, 8 replies)

Try this
I've been doing this for a few years now. Its amazing the sort of reactions you get.

If you're in a pub or a club and you're a bit bored. Pick a random stranger, approach them and say enthusiastically:

"Can I have your autograph!?!"

Hand them a beer mat or a knapkin and a pen and see what happens.

Nine times out of ten they'll sign it, looking a bit bewildered.

And if you can be bothered you can start rapid-fiering random questions at them.

So far I've managed to convice some bloke he may have won the Moto GP Championship, a random girl that she should at least have been nominated for Best Supporting Actress at the Oscars, and some other fella that he would definately have played for England if it wasn't for that fucking knee injury.

Then fuck off into the night when you need another pint.

Passes the time...
( SpankyHanky, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:57, 1 reply)

Not smelly either...
Not so much a hero, but I am and have been impressed by Netwon Faulkner and his live music, he does entertain...

Had media passes to last years Isle of Wight festival and he was playing... saw him back stage, and requested a pic, and he duely obliged.

However, it was sunny, I was drinking pink champagne (it was free...) and when my camera would work, I started to get 'over excited' which caused him slight concern. Still after a few awkward minutes, pic was taken and all was good... and he smelt rather pleasant too, which is always a surprise for anyone with dreads...
(CornishStanley can't post hyperlinks, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:33, 1 reply)

Zarking fardwarks!
I have another. A few years ago, Dad used to work for the BBC- being the studio producer for such high brow programs as Pick of the Week and You and Yours. As such, he used to get freebies which he'd pass onto me if they were any good. Highlights included a James Pond 2 computer game and a Shaggy CD. So far, so hoopy. It was, as you could say, quite froody.

And then one day, he phoned up with a very cool proposition. But before that, a bit of backstory. At about the same time that Dad got me into Blur, he also got me into Douglas Adams in a very big way. I can still quote chapter and verse today, I am that geeky a fan. I have the book, audio tapes, CDs, a copy of the TV series, movie (which I actually quite liked), although I am still looking for a towel. If anyone has a H2G2 towel going spare, and wants to pass it my way, you'd have a friend for life.

And so, back to the proposition. Dad phoned up, and had managed to wangle access to be an interviewer on a panel show, to talk to a man about a book. Oh, and I'd be on national radio. Incredibly cool. Then he said who I would be interviewing- the man, the legend, the man whom in some senses I still consider to be a God in human form. Albeit a rather decomposed form now. I would be interviewing Douglas Adams. When he told me this, I was beyond happy. I was beyond jubilant. A little bit of wee may have come out.

I told all of my friends, and for a while, I was a geek God. I was like a nerdy Adonis. I was... well you get the point. With a bag full of books they wanted signing. Ah, memories. I still have mine somewhere, a treasure I possess to this day.

But, back to the interview. I rocked up to Broadcasting House, heavy bag in hand, positively salivating at the thought of meeting the big man. And he was a big man, considering the man in question is huge. And so, the interview took place, I asked my questions, and spent most of the time feeling like this was a dream. And then, as I look at my signed copy, I realise it wasn't a dream. It was reality, and it was amazing. To this day I still feel privileged to have met the great man and literary genius otherwise known as Douglas Adams.

Although for some reason to this day I can't fathom he does remind me of Chris Tarrant.

Ah well.
( jim_bob can herd cats., Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:27, Reply)

Clearly not much of a fan at all.
I used to work behind the bar of a theatre - and still do, on occasion.

Apparently, I once served drinks to Ronnie Barker. I failed to notice.


(Actually, we had a no-fawning policy, which meant that if we had anyone famous in the audience and they wanted to pre-order interval drinks, we'd still ask them their names. Some were relieved about this. Others... weren't.)
( Enzyme is powered by sunlight, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:25, 4 replies)

Get away from me you big spastic
Repost, but much more fitting here:

Partridge

Steve Coogan was doing a book signing in Bristol and a friend and I went to see him as we were big Partridge fans. So much so that we took along a 'hilarious' picture of my friend sat on the lap of a mock up Alan sitting in an armchair in our living room. We had a cut out and keep Alan Partridge mask as the head and we had recreated his body in 'Guy Fawkes' style, it was quite convincing.

Unfortunatly when my friend handed the photo over to Steve to sign his face went white and all he could say was something along the lines of 'that is very disturbing'. He signed the photo 'you sick, sick people' or words to that effect.

And that was the end of that, until we sat down to watch the episode in the next series of the show, where Alan gets stalked by a mad fan.....who has a entire room dedicated to Alan.....with an armchair in the middle.....with a mock up 'Alan' very much like the one we had produced, in fact exactly like it...

I am still waiting for the royalties...
(barrington, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:24, 5 replies)

I have met a real, bone fide CYLON
And it still makes me happy. Specifically, the Galen Tyrell Model. It was playing the slots in the MGM in Vegas last July and I was on my way to Cirque Du Soleil. I am still smiling about it now. I mean, a fucking CYLON. We talked for about half an hour about this and that, it was very pleasant. I managed not to be a total fucking fanboy for about 2 seconds.

Since then, have spent a fucking fortune on original BSG artwork - specifically blueprints and set designs for the major sets. Gives me a little cylon chubby. I think about that shit far too much.
( I have run out of coke is a little sweaty, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:19, Reply)

I once cried on my birthday,
First and only time. No, not because my birthday cake was ruined. No, not because nobody showed up to my party. No, not because some drunken lout threw his kebab at my face.....oh no no no. For these were tears of joy - my mum, for my birthday, had managed to get me a birthday card signed by my most adored football star in the world, Peter Beardsley.

Yes, that's right. Peter Fucking Beardsley. Read it and weep, fools!
(The Oscillating Gibbon is eating curried squid, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:19, 8 replies)

The other side of the velvet rope
Weird one this, but bear with me.

Back in the early 90s, I worked for a charity that promoted water safety (RLSS). If any of you have your "Bronze Medallion" for jumping into a swimming pool fully-clothed and retrieving a brick, it would have been via these people.

Based on an idea I had, we did a tie-in with Sega, with "Ecco the Dolphin" teaching kids water safety. Produced a video with Chris Evans (cock, only did the work when given a stack of cash, even though it was for charity) and Baywatch.

Two of the stars of Baywatch - Yasmine Bleeth and Jaason Simmons - came over to the UK to promote the video, which was given (free) to every school in the country.

I got to stay with "the stars" in London during the week of promotional activities. At the time, Baywatch was the biggest TV show on the planet. 100 million viewers in 80 countries.

It was very strange seeing things from the other side of the fence, so to speak. Jaason was a lovely guy, but this was his first big break and as the new series featuring him in it (he was the Australian one with tattoos) had just come out, I was with him whilst he experienced his first moments of fame.

I remember us all having a meal at the Hard Rock cafe, and fans crawling under the table throughout the meal to emerge at his side to have their picture taken.

Spending 90 minutes in car, just myself and Yasmine Bleeth (at the time, one of the top ten most beautiful women in the world, according to the lads mags) and my God, she was boring company.

Getting so "refreshed" with Jaason that he had to crawl out of my room on his hands and knees to get to his bed.

Being guests of honour at Stringfellows and seeing the desperate wannabees there who would do anything to get into the limelight. At the end of the evening, I turned down the invite to a party with Paul Hutchence and Kylie etc. because I was so sick of the whole celeb. thing.

So it saddens me that the ambition of so many is to be "famous". I've experienced second-hand what it's like, and believe me, it ain't all that. They are people, just like us, with the exception of the more fame they have had, the less reality they know. It almost is as if the photographs do suck their soul out and leave a vacuum - Yasmine B. had been "in the industry" all her life and frankly was like an animatronic Barbie doll and really boring company.

Jaason came back to the UK to see me some months afterwards and was great company.

Fame though - aspired to by idiots, and generally achieved by the same.
( I_Was_Mordred, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:16, Reply)

I met that there Monty Propps
from /links, back in the day, before his Diff'rent Strokes mashup went viral and he became an Internet Legend and a National Treasure. When I met him he was drinking Blue Nun in some Mancunian dive. Never meet your heroes. Blue Nun.
( crackhouseceilidhband Fuck off back to Mumsnet, Fri 17 Apr 2009, 12:13, 2 replies)