I’ve met a few stars in my time – shaken hands with Russell Brand and Seal, served drinks to Shane from Neighbours and served a carrot and coriander soup to the beautiful Francesca Annis, who opened her hotel room door still steaming from the shower and loosely robed (pound tip). As a once-professional snooker player I’ve crossed cues with some of the greatest players in the game, and even managed to hold my composure long enough to take a few of their scalps. I even stood by, grinning and unflustered, while Nick Nolte told my brother to fuck off (sweet). As I said, I’ve met a few stars, but I’m generally cool about it.
That was until last week, when perusing the poultry section in a well-known supermarket chain, I bumped into a superstar. Coolness gone. What composure? Hello giddy schoolgirl at a Justin Bieber concert.
Hustle has got to be my favourite TV show – I’ve never missed an episode – and like every good movie and TV geek, I know all the actors’ names (whatever, get over it). So when I bumped into actor Rob Jarvis in front of the hot deli counter, the first thing to come out of my mouth should have been ‘Hello Mr Jarvis.’ Either that or keep schtum and let the man shop.
This man was no actor. He was Eddie from my favourite show. He may as well have been Paul Newman. My lips flapped accordingly.