A little peek at stardom - bath.co.uk

Celebrity spotting is one of the perks of living in Bath.

It's remarkable how many stars I've passed in the street over the years from John Hurt to David James and Van Morrison to David Frost.

But even when someone's song, book or TV show means a lot to me, I'm not one to rush up and ask for an autograph or photo or even to tell them they're great.

Hassling stars strikes me as a bit naff. They're not public property, these people are off-duty and deserve space.

I'd hate to be famous. Not even money, adulation and blonde groupies in mini-skirts would make the pester-fest bearable.

When celebs are asked by partners what sort of day they've had, I imagine they reply, "Oh the usual 163 autographs, 204 mobile phone photos with leering non-entity fans, five stalkers and a woman who threw her knickers at me in Boot's."

It would test the patience of a saint.

I'm surprised more stars don't resort to various forms of "Get lost!"

Although I like seeing famous faces, I make a conscious effort not to stare: my star-gazing is more like a sly, sideways glance.

That was the way of things recently when I passed John Cleese in Royal Crescent.

He was tending a cat, which seemed rather odd. We don't associate extraordinary people with ordinary activities such as putting out bin bags.

Some years ago, I stood behind iconic consumer champion, Roger Cook, at a supermarket checkout, half expecting him to whip out a microphone and challenge the manager about a loyalty points scam. But he was just doing his shopping. Weird.

My favourite all-time spots include David Soul strolling in Northumberland Place, a tad worn compared to his Starsky and Hutch heyday, but still stylish and sexy. I loved his big hit record, Silver Lady.

As for Una Stubbs, my entire school class fancied her during the 1960s era of Cliff Richard movies such as Summer Holiday.

I gave her a special sideways glance she still looks fabulous.