A famous person spoke to me

I was on the phone to Elvira from Kings Cross Station, trying to make myself heard over the resonating boom of the platform announcements, when he strode into my field of vision.

To begin with, I wasn’t quite sure what it was. A hint of recognition captured my attention. There was a familiarity to this face amongst the thousands of strangers I had passed by, barely noticing, on my commute through the busiest and loneliest parts of the capital.

Then it struck me – I recognised him, like Fraggle Rock lighthouse against a stormy sea! But where did I know him from? Was it someone I knew? I looked at his brown coat with black collar. His black satchel. His blue checked shirt. His closely cropped hair, fooling no one in concealing male pattern baldness.

I knew the face, no doubt about it. Wait a minute – a flash of inspiration and I knew exactly who it was. It was none other than TV’s very own Phil Spencer, the Channel 4 property guru and co-host of once-must-see-now-hopelessly-retreading-the-same-old-ground sensation, Location Location Location!

My heart skipped a beat. Possibly two. I told Elvira I was looking at a real life celebrity – and not a rubbish one like the time I saw Richard Stilgoe in Leicester Square. Someone who people I told would have heard of.

And here at Kings Cross Station no less, where only seconds beforehand I had seen a bald female homeless person demanding that a hapless passer-by buy her a sandwich. She wasn’t asking for money – she was asking for a sandwich. Cheese and tomato in fact.

Oh, where else could you see an intimidating beggar one minute and a TV house buying expert in the same place? Where, but wonderful, magical London town?

He walked towards me. I had to stop describing him to my wife, lest he realise I was talking about him and I look like a star-struck peasant. He walked round behind me. I held my breath. He walked on, and had a bit of a look at what was on offer at Burger King.

I looked up at the departures board. Still my train had “not yet arrived”. But it was “on time”, so that was ok. I looked back - I had lost sight of Phil.

Thinking my brush with fame was over, and still having 20 minutes to kill, I went to buy a bottle of water and reflect on whether seeing Phil Spencer at a railway station in 2012 was better than seeing Bob Geldof at the National Gallery in 1998, or Phil Tufnell at Sharm el Sheikh airport in 2006.

Well, fate had not finished with me for the evening yet.

Who do you suppose was in the station shop, perusing the pot salads? Yes, him. Celebrities even eat better than us, I thought – but at the end of the day, I challenge anyone to spend £3.37 more satisfyingly than at McDonalds.

I joined the queue. As he walked towards the back of the queue, the woman in front of me greeted him. God, what an idiot, I thought. How embarrassing. For all of us. Especially me and Phil.

But Phil was delighted. Turns out they knew each other. Or something. I wasn’t listening. I was inspecting his face, in all its familiar high-definition detail – there, in conversational animation just a couple of feet in front of my very eyes. I could well imagine him, with resigned good humour, telling a young couple how unrealistic their expectations for £150,000 were, or casting a sly glance to the camera and saying that he’d found something this one – no matter how awkward she’d been so far – was going to love. I could almost hear Kirsty’s voiceover pretending to talk back to him in those prematurely headmistressy tones.

And then it happened.

Salad in hand, Phil turned to me and said “do you mind if I...”

He meant, “push in the queue in front of you and carry on talking to this lady”. But he didn’t finish the sentence. His star power completed it for him. It said “I am a popular TV personality, who you obviously recognise. Indeed, I’m sure I overheard you talking about me to your wife about five minutes ago, when I walked behind you. And now you’ve followed me in here, like a stalker. Oh yes, random people in crowds rarely catch my eye or say ‘Location Location Location’ as I’m passing by – so when they do, I always pay attention. I am sure you will indulge me, clearly the normal rules of railway station shopping do not apply”.

“Not at all”, I replied.  

Like this sort of thing happens to me every day.

The rest of the journey home after that was just a blur.