Last week, I was accused by Pia of being a Sloane, a criticism which stung me until I caught sight of myself in the mirror yesterday on the way to work and took in the lace headband, V-neck pearl-buttoned cardigan, knee-length flouncy A line skirt and my brand new grown-up pointy shoes with the grosgrain bows. All that was missing was the pearls - and that was only because I'd left them on the dressing table.
Obviously, my days of grubby student living are psychologically (if alas not fiscally) behind me. I blame my colleagues, who are constantly plying me with Marks & Spencers chocolate buttons ("They're low GI!"), telling me about vintage shoe shops in Notting Hill, and trying to make me drink champagne at lunchtime. My Scottish coal-mining grandfather is probably turning in his grave.
Anyway, I am feeling even less profound than usual this weekend. I'll spare you the story of how I fell out of a changing room in Zara on Friday half-in, half-out of a pair of skinny jeans (which, you'll be pleased to know, I did not buy). Instead, I'm going to embrace the Popbitch-y vibe, and give you a round-up of my Top Ten Best Ever Rubbish Celebrity Encounters.
1. Interviewing the Chuckle brothers with the world's most dangerous student journalist, P. Question: "You've done a lot of work for children - have you ever considered adult entertainment?" He then wrote that they looked like "the missing link between the animal and gypsy kingdoms", and was last seen trying to convince the university authorities to let him dress as a woman for his finals exams by posing as a transsexual.
2. Staring at David Blaine's unshaven neck. Honestly, man, you've come to talk to the cream (rich and thick) of Britain's young bucks at the Oxford Union. Buy a razor.
3. Watching Chris Eubank brandish his cane at a tramp, shouting, "Give you money? The only thing I'll give you is a plane ticket to Nigeria so you can see what real poverty's like!". Mere moments before he had answered my question, "What would you have done if you had not become a boxer?" by touching my thigh and saying, "I know.. I would have married you."
4. Rod Liddle looking down my top at a drinks party. If only I had known at the time that he was up for impregnating an impressionable twentysomething, I could be the proud mother of Liddle Jr and living in Bermondsey with him right now.
5. Playing the Elbow Game with Derren Brown at a performance of the League of Gentlemen pantomime in Hammersmith (more details here).
6. Interviewing Matthew Perry (aka The Day My Adolescence Ended). It is no overstatement to say that I loved Matthew Perry, or rather Chandler, with a passion I have never again experienced for a man. (That's teenage hormones for you.) So imagine my disappointment upon turning up to interview him to find him sitting in the corner, nervously sucking on a Marlboro Light and not being wry or deadpan at all. He compounded the offence by beginning his speech with the phrase, "Could there BE any more people here?" which rates as the cheapest laugh it's possible to get. Anyway, from that day on, I was a wiser and better person, for I knew that celebrities were intrinsically disappointing in person, and also smaller. (P.S. I actually have photographic evidence of this.)
7. Trying not to listen to Patrick Stewart's then-wife going to the loo. Yeah, I know that's a pretty weird celebrity encounter, and I swear it wasn't deliberate. She didn't know where the loo was, I did. I showed her, then realised I would have to stay to show her the way back. What the hell do you do in that situation - make conversation? Hum? Fake a heart attack? In the end I just stood there going slowly redder. When she came out of the cubicle, it was apparent that she was not in the least bit bothered, and I suddenly felt very, very British.
8. Touching Gail Porter's slaphead. (See number five.) She was so nice I wanted to tell her not to talk to journo scum like me.
9. John Rhys Davies' wife being humilated by an uppity 17-year-old. The Lord of the Rings and Sliders star came to the Oxford Union, and brought his wife, who seemed very nice. However, it quickly transpired that she was a Mormon. Cue Uppity 17-year-old, younger brother of a guest: "Is it true that Mormons believe black people have no souls?" She spluttered, and Uppity 17-year-old continued, "Because James Brown - he's the King of Soul!" Cue one very chastised-looking Mormon.
10. Arriving at the Pen Pusher party to find we were sharing the bar with the Grange Hill Cast Reunion.
For bonus points, celebrity encounters at one degree of separation: Weave being late for her hen party because she was in Sierra Leone with Midge Ure; Myleene Klass offering my ex-housemates a box of Krispy Kreme doughnuts; A blogger who shall remain nameless making Rory Bremner wait half an hour to use the office loo because he was in the cubicle with his minidisc on, defecating extravagantly.