Sleeping With Julia Roberts.

Sleeping with Julia Roberts

As well as my sexual encounter with Sarah Lancashire on a Virgin train ;), I have slept with Julia Roberts. Well, actually I have slept next to Julia Roberts. Well, next door to her to be precise. I was staying at the Sheraton Hotel at Paris Airport on a tedious work thing which lasted three or four days. Julia was making a film in the hotel. She was co-starring with Antonio Banderas. I am not sure that it ever made it to the movies or even to DVD because I have not been able to find any reference to it in either of their filmographies or on the shelves at Blockbuster. Nevertheless, I slept in the room next to Julia.

She was beautiful and surprisingly petite. I got within six feet of her at one point (!) when they were filming on the landing outside of our rooms. She smiled at me. Only me. She was waiting to be filmed while we were watching them filming one of the other female stars being thrown over the balcony.

There was quite some disruption in the hotel during the filming. It was really quite exciting. For example, most of the time, the guest lift was not working and we had to use the service lift and walk through the kitchens and other “secret” areas of the hotel to get to reception. Walking through the kitchen made me feel a little bit like a US president en route to being assassinated – well, in the movies it always seems to happen that way doesn’t it? They go through the kitchen and they get shot by the mafia guy along with some small Mexican waiter that is living the American dream.

Lifts (elevators for our American cousins) seemed to figure heavily in the film as well. For about an hour I watched them try to film some “famous” French actor, that I have never heard of and never seen in any film, enter the hotel The idea seems to have been that he would walk into the hotel, walk to the lifts, enter the lifts, and presumably go upstairs and throw a woman off the balcony. Simple. Except that, in the world of Hollywood, it seems actors are not allowed to press the button to call a lift or to wait for it to arrive. For a whole hour they were trying to time it so that someone would push the lift call button off camera, so that the actor would arrive in front of the lift just as the doors would slide open. They hadn’t managed it after an hour and I got bored and went and did some work. In any case Julia was not there to distract me. My little American Tinkerbell.

Julia sent a bottle of champagne to my room to apologise for the noise and disruption. I thought that that was very nice of her. I waited in my room hoping that she would knock my door and share a glass or two with me. Unfortunately she didn’t. I didn’t hear her in her room that night. And, believe me, I listened. I listened hard. And, it came as a huge disappointment when I found out the following morning that Julia (or at least her staff) had sent a bottle of champagne to everyone on the landing. And, I thought that I had been special. Sigh.

This is the closest that I have come so far to a real “A-list” celebrity. To a real star. There have been many minor celebrities along the way (see earlier posting). And, on one occasion I got a little closer than was comfortable. Julian Cope checked me out in the urinals of the village hall in Portree on the Isle of Skye. C and I went to Skye on our first ever holiday together. We got engaged while we were there. But, imagine our surprise when we discovered that Julian Cope was performing at the local village hall. He was doing a tour of the Inner Hebrides. Clearly the residents of Skye had never heard of him. Well, it was 1992 and the Teardrop Explodes was more of an ‘80s thing. We were joined in the village hall by maybe six or seven other people. Julian was stoned. I am not sure that he had a clue where he was. He was off his head. But he belted them out and the world shut its mouth. I went to the loo at a half-time break. Julian followed. He chose the urinal next to me. I am sure he checked me out. Now, if only Julia Roberts had got so close……

Celebrity Spotting Part 2

Many B, C and Z list celebrities live in the Wilmslow area of Cheshire. It is the land of Coronation Street stars and Manchester United players. And, they all seem to shop at Sainsbury’s. Or at least they did before the arrival of Waitrose a couple of years ago. Ken Barlow (Bill Roache) used to live around the corner from us and was a regular in the corner shop. As indeed was Steve McDonald (Simon Gregson) – "allegedly" often pissed and buying alcohol. Jim McDonald/Charles Lawson (his screen dad), another alleged alki, Samia (sigh) Smith who plays Maria Sutherland, and Denise Welch (Natalie Barnes) are also Sainsburys regulars. Also, Brian McClair of Manchester United. I once saw Christian Ronaldo in there. It was before the world cup (2206) so he was still popular then. He was with his brother and his dad. He was clearly buying stuff for a family bbq. He was swamped by youngsters seeking autographs. He was very patient and took it all in his stride and I remember thinking “what a nice bloke”. But, I will never forgive him for getting Rooney sent off! In fact Wayne Rooney has also moved into the area, and lowered the tone. Apparently he is now a regular in Brasingamens, the Braz, being a club in Alderley Edge (Bolliwood!), where, allegedly, he once punched his girlfriend, Coleen McLoughlin. It would seem that Wayne is often to be found partying with other Scousers, and that the potential WAG factor has begun to attract the ladies of Liverpool to this part of Cheshire on a Friday and Saturday night in search of a potential footballing hubby. Well, denim mini skirts, see-through tops, pierced navels, and white stilettos have not gone down too well with ladies who lunch of Wilmslow and Alderley Edge. I know who I'd back in a fight though. And, be careful where you park your car at the weekend.....

I even saw Liam Gallagher (of Oasis) and his then wife Patsy Kensit in Sainsburys. That caused a stir. You don’t get many Man City fans in Wilmslow! Not with all those shops selling prawn sandwiches. I like Patsy Kensit. In fact I have loved Patsy Kensit ever since she starred in the Birds Eye Peas adverts, starting in 1972. Those big blue eyes. That blonde hair. Mother wouldn’t approve.

I gave up my chair once for Barbara Knox who plays Rita Fairclough/Sullivan. It was in the business lounge of Manchester Airport. The cast was assembling there en route for one of those holiday specials in Ibiza or Majorca or some such place. You know, “the Street goes on holiday and it all ends in disaster” special.

Airports in general are a very good place for hob-nobbing with stars…..I bumped into the Edge (U2), literally, in the lounge at Heathrow. I followed Annika Rice’s bottom (nice) up the stairs to a plane. I stood next to Alex Furgusson and Craig Brown (then Scotland Manager) on the tarmac at Heathrow as we tried to find our baggage after it had been turfed off a broken-down plane. I once sat next to Willy Thorne and his snooker cue on a plane to Amsterdam. He was a very nice guy, sociable, if a bit obsessive about his cue.

Most bizarrely, C and I once sat at a table next to Jason Orange of Take That in the Swan in Wybunbury, in darkest Cheshire. This was in the wilderness years between the demise and rebirth. He was just like any other normal bloke out for a drink and Sunday meal with the family.

C and I sat next to Jane Danson (Leanne Battersby of Corrie) when she was having a girls' night out, in Pizza Express in Wilmslow. In fact, we were once in there at the same time as Dwight Yorke, when he was still a Birmingham City player. I didn't pester him for an autograph though. We once queued next to Sinbad from Brookside in the big Ikea at Warrington. I sat next to Frank Finlay (star of Bouquet of Barbed Wire – TV incest in 1976) on the Northern Line tube. Twice. On separate occasions.


It is sporting stars that I have got closest to though (apart from Annika Rice's rear of the year). I once shared a ride in a friends Mini Cooper (one of the original ones) with Bob Willis, the former England fast bowler. He is huge. Very tall. It was quite a funny sight to see him folded up in the back of a mini. And he stood his round in teh pub. And, I once spent the day with Eddie the Eagle at the height of his "fame". At the time I was running a truck racing team sponsored by the company that I work for, and Eddie was there for a celebrity race. He lost, of course. He grinned inanely all day long. He hit on my colleague, Liz. He lost out there too.

But, by far my most memorable brush with celebrity was with Golden Balls himself, David Beckham. Actually, more precisely, it was with Brooklyn Beckham, his first born. I was minding my business hanging around the arrivals area of Manchester terminal 1, waiting for a car to come and pick me up, when a small sprog grabbed my hand. It was Brooklyn. He had grabbed my hand by mistake, thinking that I was his father. Well, it is hardly surprising, we could be twins! Identical. Well, at least we were dressed in a similar fashion. Becks had apparently been there, keeping a low profile, waiting for someone to come off a flight, and little Brookie had wandered off just like any other two year old. David was very good about it. This was in the days before the alleged kidnap attempts. He smiled and squeaked something to me which I didn't quite catch......

Celebrity Spotting Part 1

Business travel, and Sainsburys in Wilmslow have been a great source of rendezvous with minor celebrities.

Perhaps most enjoyable have been train journeys. You feel closer to the celebs in some sort of strange way. Journeys on Virgin trains between the North West and London and back have been most fruitful. On one occasion I sat opposite Sarah Lancashire, star of a “wealth” of Sunday night family viewing such as “Where the Heart Is” and, most notably “Coronation Street”. She starred as Raquel Watts, ditsy barmaid who married (and divorced) Curly Watts. She was/is a bit of a babe. Especially in the flesh, so to speak. The kind of homely, northern lass that your mom would approve of. And only two years older than I. She asked me the time. It was the was she asked. You know. The way she asked implied “do you want to come somewhere and get to know each other intimately?”. I did want to. I didn’t. I couldn’t be quite sure that I was reading the signals correctly. Another opportunity lost.

My other notable train claim, in a very different way, was Pete Waterman, of Stock, Aitkin, and Waterman fame. He who discovered Kylie. For which, I shall be eternally grateful. Pete sat opposite me on a journey from London to Crewe. He was on his way home to Stockton Heath. At first I was dead cool and did not let on that I recognised him. I surreptitiously texted C and colleagues at work who I thought would be impressed. C sent a simple text back “Don’t sing!”. Good advice. I am tone death (and I mean death!) and toneless. J, whose uncle is the keyboard and song writer in Tears for Fears replied, “My uncle says he’s a tw*t!”. Not quite the reaction I was looking for.

When I subsequently told my best mates about the encounter, they were similarly suitably underwhelmed. None of them have quite the same affinity with Kylie as I have. Most comments ranged from “Tosser”, “W*nker” (they meant Pete, not me of course), or “big deal”. But, they don’t know Pete like I do. Most likely they were trying to deflect me from one of my usual waffling, rambling stories of great adventures starring the Middle Man. They know me too well. But, they’re very forgiving.

Actually, he, Pete that is, was a thoroughly nice guy. It was vodka that broke the ice, both literally and metaphorically. Pete exclaimed: “Vladivar. Not seen that for ages!” “From Warrington”, says I. We have been best buddies ever since. I explained that my Uncle Tom used to drive the cart, and then then truck, making deliveries for Greenalls the brewery and Pete told me of the brewery’s demise. He is into real ale and was looking forward to getting home. His local village hall turns into a real ale pub for locals and members of CAMRA on a Thursday, Friday and Saturday night and he was keen to get there by 8pm for opening. I wish our village hall did the same.

We chatted quite freely for a good hour. He told me about his home in London - a disused warehouse (3500 square feet) in Borough which he bought for fifteen thousand pound in 1983 (presumably on the back of Kylie……now there’s a thought). He employed interior designers for thirty five thousand. They painted the walls white and the floors black. He has one bedroom, a dining room (Chinese red, "very warm and welcoming in winter") with a table and four chairs, a huge lounge with two fourteen foot long sofas, and a “f*ck off bathroom”. The latter was his main stipulation. He has no shower, but, apparently a palatial bathroom. He explained, “I didn’t live anywhere with a bath until I was 17.”

I asked him for Kylie’s telephone number. He declined. When I explained I only wanted to wish her the best after her recent cancer he said he would pass on my regards. So close. So far.
We talked of Pop Idol and X Factor. Allegedly, Simon Cowell’s banter is scripted and the US version of the game is fixed. But, enough of that…..let’s talk about Kylie. Sigh……