Prefab Sprout’s Paddy McAloon seen in Brunswick Place (Newcatle upon Tyne).
I was sat outside talking to a colleague when Paddy walked past at lunchtime today . . . and for a moment the world stood still. Paddy was wearing a hat, blazer and purple jogging bottoms. Unmistakeable in his glasses and flowing white beard. Like a poorly disguised Father Christmas. For a nanosecond I thought about going up to him to thank him for the impact his music has had on my life but I’m too much of a fan to do that. There are so many questions I’d love to ask him but I figure the most respectful thing I could do as a fan, is not to bother the man in the first place. I know he travels up from County Durham to shop in HMV from time to time.
Has anyone seen a famous musician in an unexpected place? And how did you respond?
On a business trip staying at the Warwick Hotel on Rue de Berri just nipped out to pop into the Virgin megastore on the Champs-Élysées and bumped into Mick Hucknall coming out of the Rolex shop. A few years later and passed Holly Johnson on the exact same spot.
The trick is to give them the nod so that they know that you that they know who they are.
The trick is to give them the nod so that they know that you that they know who they are.
Yes, absolutely that’s how you do it. I would definitely have done that if we had been in each other’s line of sight. It did however feel like an empyrean moment because we weren’t. Something to do with being in the presence of greatness for a brief moment.
How confident are you that it wasn’t his brother? The similarity nowadays is uncanny and Thomas Dolby was also spotted in Newcastle today. Both due in Nottingham tomorrow (?).
Paddy has 2 brothers. I saw Martin recently play the Cluny2. And yes, he’s also got the white beard look going on as well. It wasn’t Martin though. Or Michael.
Had an enjoyable walk from the Principality back when Wales used to play there. Accompanied all the way by an increasingly sing songy Bryn Terfel. As he got louder and more joyous (after a 2-2 draw for goodness sake) one of the group in front of us yelled a very firm “Shut up you fat Welsh t%€t.”
I was working in a Bank in Dublin around 1980 when one of the female staff members came over to me and said that there was a guy at the counter who wanted to withdraw some cash from his branch but had no identification with him.
I looked up and saw a young Larry Mullen at the counter, U2 had just released their debut album. “Maureen, give him as much as he wants”
We had similar with Wendy Richard in Baker St. one time. She got very pissy with the staff, I asked her to take a minute away from the desk in another part of the office and consider behaving differently. Instead she stormed out in a huff. She came back later with required docs., apologised and said she was mortified she’d been such a cow.
Was next to Robert Plant at a till in the Liberty Store in London in the early 80s. He was buying a couple of fancy cravats. I think I might have been buying a tie.
I have run across several famous people, not just musicians, in various places. No matter how much I like their work my reaction upon recognition is to leave them be as they likely would prefer to go about their lives undisturbed, while I have no adulation gene so no effect on me. On occasions when I’ve locked eyes with someone whose music or other art I appreciate, I have simply done the slightest nod of acknowledgement and moved on.
I have myself been mistaken for a famous musician on a couple of occasions, and a different one on another occasion, though I don’t think the two looked alike. On a couple of those occasions it was clear that my denial was not believed, in one case with repeated attempts to engage me in conversation which became rather tiresome. I was left thinking afterwards that I should have said yes it is me, now p*** off!
I had a period in the 90s where I was repeatedly mistaken for Dennis Bergkamp. I could sort of see it but not really. I’ve always felt that approaching celebrity was a pretty intrusive thing to do and that confirmed it. Walking through central Manchester it happened too many times one day so I caved, conceded that I was indeed himself, posed for a photo and signed an autograph. It was genuinely terrifying. Based on the fact I’d stopped and done that one thing, around 10 people decided to stop also. I had to insist I’d an appointment, which I did. Without fail all of them refused to let me go and started to follow me. The simultaneous sense of cluelessness and entitlement was genuinely terrifying. Only shook them off when Boots opticians insisted to them I was not. Even then some of them wanted to argue I was obviously using a pseudonym.
I was subsequently full of remorse for the day Mrs. H. and I were sat outside in Albert Square having a cheeky drink. She realised the bloke in front of us watching the world go by in a very old bandana was one Steve Van Zandt. 45 minutes of lovely conversation followed. He was genuinely engaged and lovely but subsequently all I could think was that no matter how many noises you make about fans making your career etc. it must be exhausting and demoralising to have no public space just for you to be alone with your thoughts or to get on with your life.
I also saw Throbbing Gristle in Crouch End as they were walking down the street… I quietly mentioned it to a friend who shouted ‘Throbbing Gristle!’ and spun around looking for them - mortifying…..
