I was the lucky recipient of a Glastonbury back-stage pass since I was working for a BBC radio station as a roving reporter ( in the pre-Jo Whiley mass overage days ). My girlfriend came too. She'd just discovered Van's music and had made a t-shirt for him which she hoped to give him personally in return for Van signing some albums. I'd warned her that Van could be a bit, er, 'tricky' but she dismissed such arty shenanigins with a loveable shrug and made a b-line for Van's portakabin where she was stopped by a burly Irish security guard. When my girlfriend innocently explained about the t-shirt the Irish security man was clearly disarmed by her nerve and relented. He took the shirt off her and said he'd give it to Van. We hung around and, two minutes later, Van actually appeared. He muttered a thank you for the t-shirt and, when handed a copy of 'Moondance' and 'Astral Weeks' to sign he gladly did so!! At first the pen didn't work and we thought he might storm off but my girlfriend explained that he had to push down hard with the nib. Amazingly, Van did as he was told and both parties came away happy. Incidentally, as a footnote, Van's lady at the time approached my girlfriend later and expressed an interest in having another t-shirt. She gave us her phone number but, when we phoned it a week or so later, it turned out to be a false one. What was all that about??

What is it with that guy? I thought a lifetime quest for spiritual enlightenment might at least put a beautific smile on his face, but he seems to spend most of the time looking like someone who put their life savings on a horse and watched it come in last...

Gawd, I'd forgotten about this... many years ago, I was told by the owner of 'Out On The Floor' records in Camden Town the following nugget. Van Morrison came in the shop and started looking through old R&B and rockabilly records. He then proceeded to start rearranging all the vinyl, putting things in different sections. This went on for several minutes, with Van muttering to himself the whole time. After 20 minutes or so, without so much as a hello or goodbye, he left without buying anything.

Van's reputation for being "tricky" is not my experience either. He was always quite the gent to me.

Back in the day, I used to frequent a certain greasy spoon on Notting Hill Gate run by a fiercely miserable Italian couple. Most mornings I found myself sharing one of the 12-inch-square formica tables with The Man, who would squeeze himself onto the leather-effect bench opposite me, whip out his Daily Mirror and tuck into his all-the-trimmins brekky - yes, baked beans included - with gusto. He always muttered hello and goodbye to me, as one does. No surliness in sight. (No gushing friendliness either, but, hey, this was London in the '80s.)

Strangely, another regular who coincided with Van and me there most mornings was Elvis Costello (the Indy, natch). They never used to speak to each other, but would just exchange "I know you know I know who you are and I'm not in the least bit ashamed of reading this newspaper" nods.

This went on almost every day for months until one day when I found myself sitting alone with my cholesterol. Van and Elv were never seen there again. I learned later that both had left the bustle of the Smoke, each to live a life of seclusion in Ireland.

Perhaps it was the fried bread.