Will Young can probably never watch Pretty Woman without cringeing. Not down to how badly it's aged – although that too – but because he once made an absolute tit of himself in front of its star, Julia Roberts.
"I was singing at the LA BAFTAs,” he explained, “She was in the dressing room and I got a bit tongue-tied and I just was looking at her and thinking 'Oh god, that's Julia Roberts' and all I had in my head was the Pretty Woman theme tune. Then she said: "You're the guy from American Idol" and I said: 'No, Pop Idol.'
"Then I said: 'Wouldn't it be funny if it was called Pup Idol and everyone brought their puppies'. She just looked at me. I know. It's really odd. Her assistant just moved her away. I'm actually sweating telling this story. I started sweating and the make-up artist was like 'God, you're sweating quite a lot'. And I said: 'Yeah I know, I'm fine. It's just so hot.'”
I feel poor Will’s pain. I’ve embarrassed myself so many times in front of famous people, and just like him, I’m still kicking myself years later. Worse still, two of them were my lifelong heroes – they say you should never meet yours, but I'd assumed that was because they might let you down rather than doing it myself.
The first was Ronnie Barker, who I’d grown up watching and always loved. When I started interviewing celebrities and seeing the way things worked and the sycophancy involved, I heard a story about him that made me admire him even more. At the height of The Two Ronnies fame, he decided he’d like to start writing for it, but didn’t want his sketches to be accepted simply because he was the star of the show - he wanted to be sure they were good. So he sent them in under a pseudonym. Obviously they were accepted anyway, because he was brilliant.
At a party when I was in my twenties and working for a celebrity magazine, I noticed him across the room. My heart stopped. I knew the likelihood of ever being in the same place as him again was slim to none, and that I’d always regret not taking this once in a lifetime opportunity to speak to him.
On shaking legs, I blundered up to him, completely interrupted the conversation he was in the middle of, and began telling him how amazing he was and how much he meant to me. The problem was that I was so nervous, I just gabbled on and on. And on.
The poor man stared back at me, increasingly bewilderedly, as I continued with my seemingly endless monologue. My mouth was yakking, but my mind was racing, thinking SHUT UP SHUT UP STOP TALKING, but it was like a spell had been cast over me, to transform me into Little Miss Chatterbox. Genuinely multiple minutes passed.
Eventually, to the relief of all involved, I ran out of steam. There was a moment of stunned silence. And then Ronnie Barker fixed his gaze over my shoulder, mumbled, “I’m looking for my wife…” and walked off, leaving me with the group of people he’d been happily chapping with before being accosted by a lunatic. I will never forget the sympathetic (aka pitying) look one of them gave me. It will probably be the last thing I see on my deathbed, just before I close my eyes for ever.
Next I was sent by this newspaper to the premiere of the Sex And The City movie, to review it as they knew I was the series’ biggest fan. Sarah Jessica Parker’s Carrie Bradshaw was also my life role model, but I’d loved the actress even before that thanks to Footloose.
On the night, the film’s publicist suddenly announced that SJP would deign to have some quick photos taken with journalists. We waited in a cordoned off pen, like sheep, and were brought across to her one by one to pose with her for one snap, and then off we went. By the time it was my turn I’d worked myself up into quite a state, because seeing any celebrity in real life is quite a strange experience, never mind one you have spent hours watching and trying to be.
I walked over to her, stood next to her and we put our arms behind each other's backs. I looked at my hand on her waist and thought I AM TOUCHING SARAH JESSICA PARKER. I knew I should probably speak, but wasn’t sure what to say. I panicked. And then I said, “I love you.” To Sarah Jessica Parker, a stranger I had just met. She looked at me, puzzled but not unkindly. Perhaps she was slightly frightened, and rightly so. She didn’t reply, because what was she going to say? I love you too?
I made a triumphant fist in the photo – WHY???? – and let's just say my face did sort of betray the fact I was quite excited to meet her. My friends still adopt this pose from time to time, decades later. Presumably one day this photo will be funny to me. Maybe on my 394th birthday.