My daughter gave me his "autobography" for Christmas, and however pitiful a read it is, he still comes over as a personable well-meaning fella. I had sort of hoped he had managed to beat the booze. Much as I would love to feel he was discussing ticket prices with his daughters, somehow the image presented says otherwise.
File under waiter to George Best, naked in bed with 2 ex Miss Worlds, "George, where did it all go so wrong?"......

met Ronnie in a pub in Blackrock, Dublin many years ago, when he was definitely on the sauce in a big way, he happily signed a beer-mat and had a friendly chat, so his behaviour is consistent and confirms his status as a good sort.
Why does his presence in a bar mean he's off the wagon?

if you don't want nuns, avoid the convent, if you catch my drift.

About 12 - 13 years ago a few week before Xmas, me and the Mrs went to see the blind African guitarist Mansour Seck in the Midlands Art Centre. He played two sets with a intermission. Half way through, as I headed to the bar, My Better Half answered a call of nature. She came back to find me propping up the bar in enthusiastic conversation with a tall guy with curly dirty blonde hair. From her quizzical demeanour I could see she was expecting an introduction.

Me: "you MUST know who this is" [Blonde Guy grins]
MBH: "No, Some guy you work with?"

she then went through a list of the usual suspects

MBH: "Is he a lab technician? The porter? An old school friend?"

And so it continued with Blond Guy smiling more and more. In the end he gave the game away; "Actually, I'm Robert Plant."

MBH: goes bright red.

Having bought some fancy Xmas cards in a nearby shop we asked RP to sign one and put in a message for a mate who is a dyed-in-the-wool Zep fan. Then we went on to have a chat on the gig - he was there with his kids I think - and his plans for the second half of the Plant and Page world tour that was going to continue after Xmas. He was looking forward to India.

After all the Zep stories, I was genuinely surprised at how nice he was to us, especially as I confessed that I wasn't really too big a Zep fan, but quite liked the Plant and Page stuff (duh).

MBH still shudders at any reference to Zep.

Two days later my mate phoned up to ask if I faked the card he had received. When he found out that it was the genuine article, it went into work, just to make sure that everyone knew he was on Robert Plant's Xmas card list.

In the early Zep days, Robert Plant would go to away matches on the coach with rest of the fans - he was part of my estranged brother-in-law Mike's circle of friends. On one occasion he sat next to Mike's dad. Young chap with very long hair next to middle-aged bloke in flat cap in 1969 or 70. Mike's dads response when the identity of his illustrious companion was revealed? "Nice fellah. Very generous with the fags."

Not mine, but one that Richard Thompson used to tell on stage. RT was visiting his London home, and for the first time his youngest child was with him too. He needed to do some child-proofing on his house so he went to Brent Cross shopping centre to get one of those devices you use to block off the top and bottom of the stairs.
When he left he ran into Robert Plant who said, 'Hello Richard, what are you doing here?' To which RT replied ... wait for it ...,'Oh, I've just bought a stairgate from Hendon.'

I physically knocked David Walliams arse-over-tit when I bumped into him in Soho. He tried to retain his dignity by using his umbrella for leverage when getting up, merely to fall back down and smack his head on the kerb. Once all the unpleasantness of a donk on the head had been dispelled, I gave him a little kiss. Tidy man.

Oh! and Eddie Izzard said he liked my red gloves.

I seem to specialise in running into erstwhile heroes in the unlikeliest of eateries. I posted a while ago about my Van 'n' Elvis breakfast routine. Here's the event a year or two before that made me first suspect that what I had was a real gift.

It was a rainy Tuesday night in winter (why as we age are we increasingly able to remember useless details like that while getting the GLW's name right becomes ever more of a challenge?) and the fridge it was bare. Off I shuffled to my preferred cruddy local tandoori in Tufnell Park with nothing more ambitious in mind than grabbing a chicken tikka masala takeaway with all the trimmings -- congealed pilau rice, a naan clad in axle grease and, if my luck was in, a little tub of glow-in-the-dark green minty stuff. Yum yum.

I get there. The place is nearly empty as usual. Blood-red flock wallpaper still peeling as gracefully as ever. Just one table with four blokes tucking into their fluorescent feast. I sit down at the bar with my back to them while I order. And then I hear an uncannily familiar, if somewhat naan-stuffed, voice: "Like the heavy meddle the kids are into? You know? It's a phase. Just a phaaaaase."

I turned around to find Mr David "Weird Beard" Stewart nodding appreciatively at the words of wisdom just uttered by one Robert Allen Zimmerman, not usually of that parish.

Ask for an autograph? Nah. Out of the question. Offer my own musings on the relative longevity of popular musical genres? Didn't have any, really. Pointedly ask just the Eurythmic for an autograph and pretend I hadn't also recognised Him? Hmm. Wouldn't that be, like, you know, a bit disrepectful?

In the end I waited for my order and as I passed them walking out I just nodded an "I know you know I know who you are but I'm way too cool to act like a prat and gush" nod in the general direction of their table. As expected, they all just ignored me -- except Dylan, who looked up, nodded back and smiled the pleasantest of smiles.

It was exactly the same business-like nod and pleasant smile I'd later get from Van Morrison during our cosy breakfast encounters. Perhaps they practise in front of the mirror.

...I was once in a family hotel on the south coast. A fellow guest, also with his kids, was William Roache out of Coronation Street. Ken Barlow. Now that is not so much celebrity as familiarity. This man has been in your house longer than your carpet. You have to say something, if only to break the ice that he knows is there and you know is there.
So one day I get into the lift and there he is. We look at each other and I say (and I still congratulate myself for this) "I suppose it's a cliche to say I've seen you before". To which he smiled and for the next few days whenever our paths crossed we said hello to each other.
That's all he wanted and that's all I wanted.

Had an encounter with the stars once last year in Kelmscott, Oxfordshire. We (my other half and some Swedish friends) were enjoying our hand-raised pork pies and ales in a pub garden after a visit to William Morris's house. A slight, rather striking blonde woman appeared with toddler in tow. She sat at the table next to us. Then soon after a rather odd looking, very tall skinny character all in black (it was a hot sunny day) with trilby and walking stick appeared not looking too sure where he was. My wife nudged me - 'it's him, you know, Pete' oh yes, so it was. Mr Doherty. So the blonde must be, of course Kate Moss. He looked at me in a way that said to me I know you know who I am and you might even have one of my CDs at home, which I did. He was speaking on his mobile in a frail, fey voice. No one said anything in the usual polite, middle class english way. A few paps then appeared in the road. This is a tiny hamlet miles from anywhere yet here they were. One beefy, tough looking character had a huge video camera on his shoulder. Objections were raised, mainly from the pub staff who tried to drive the paps away. This was all hugely entertaining for us of course and we had a bit of a tale to tell.

We thought no more of it then one evening started to watch a ropey show on C5, a kind of Kate Moss, british fashion the rock n roll years. And suddenly there I was on TV just behind Pete. Bizzare experience. Never been on TV before and wasn't even asked. Funny to find myself in the celeb obsessed, Heat magazine type world for a brief moment.

I also saw Christopher Walken pick up a discarded Lottery ticket in Maidstone, Kent.

My friend Matt and I went to see Keef and the X-Pensive Winos at the Town and Country Club in 1992. It was the day before his birthday and we decided that we had to sing him 'Happy Birthday' afterwards. We waited for ages and eventually, past midnight, the stage door opened and out stepped the great man with his missus, flanked by Big Jim Callaghan, a man you would not mess with. Matt and I gave a rousing rendition of said number, much to the amusement of Keef, who was laughing like a drain. He gave us both a hug and said "Cheers guys, thanks for remembering!" He smelt of bourbon, musk and fags...