
Annons

Famous people are just like you and me. Except they are famous and you are not even slightly famous – are you, you little worm? If you died tomorrow, the papers would refer to you as "local man". If you were mown down by a combine harvester, the news would emphasise the comedy rather than the pathos because your life matters to you and no one else. No one would be tweeting "RIP Local Man". Yours would simply be one more of the constant snowfall of extinctions since time began.
Annons

How nice it is at this time of year.
Whether it is going to rain.
The Ashes.
Whether either party owns a nice car.
What’s been in the news.
Annons
Whether they slept their way to the top.
Whether they’d like a slap.
Whether they think they’re better than you.
How little they look like those photos in that magazine.
Whether phone hacking was a good thing or a bad thing.
How much time they have spent in the company of Max Clifford.

In any restaurant, a celebrity is always vulnerable. They are exposed to the public glare, the whole thing’s an ordeal by hors d’oeuvres and Sod’s Law, just when you are calmly throttling someone, some paparazzo will come along and stick a long-lens through the hibiscus. If you're their waiter, they want you to go away from the experience and tell everyone they are very nice and a big tipper. So conversely, there is plenty of scope to slouch off, since no one would ever risk reading in a red top that they were tight or testy with a bunch of underpaid serving staff. In fact, it might even be possible to mistake a hand gesture to "pour more wine" for a chance to pull up a chair at their table, grab a breadstick and set the world to rights, all without losing a penny.

Somewhere along the line, most famous people have done something very wrong. It stands to reason, because they have the opportunity, whereas if the likes of you and I told a vulnerable teenage girl we could get her a job as a runner on our chat show if she came back to our secluded bungalow for the afternoon, she’d just laugh at us, the self-important little bitch. Yes, most famous people are terribly guilty, the lucky swines. But as a member of HM Constabulary, your job is simply to extract the evidence in a timely manner, and not to keep carping on about why they are famous and you are not, even though you’re actually much funnier than them in real life and the whole idiot world would know that if you weren't denied certain life chances down the years, like going to private school and being part of the Cambridge Footlights in-crowd.
Annons

Most meetings will be of the casual variety – sensually brushing Nicholas Lyndhurst’s elbow in a rural branch of BHS, giving the wrong pasty to Pauline Quirke at the Nunhead branch of Gregg’s. But very occasionally, under certain exceptional circumstances, you may be called upon to make love to a famous person. This is always a bit like when Mary had sex with God behind Joseph’s back: it is pretty much the most exalted act within our civilisation. The sense of awe can be overwhelming, so just remain calm and try to act normal. Resist the urge to mutter: “I can’t believe I’m doing it with Tom Baker/Terry Christian/Christine Brinkley/Annie Mac,” in time with their stroke. That can be very off-putting.As we’ve established, famous people are just like you and me – except, of course, in one crucial aspect. Most famous people have a small-ridged spawning pod just beyond the anus (both males and females), easily identifiable by its cartilage-like feel. Perhaps ask them if they would like it stimulated – most will say yes, as it is actually very pleasant.@gavhaynes
