Here’s one from the memory archives, lifted out tenderly and gently disposed of all its accumulated dust… let’s just call it ‘fame brushes past’ and go from there in all its glory.

It all took place some years ago in a Turkish coffee shop, on the ascent to Prague Castle. I was with a Slovakian friend who was introducing me to the wonders of sahlep, a traditional Turkish milk-based drink, served hot and sweet, garnished with powdered cinnamon. Sahlep powder is apparently the dried powdered roots of one of two types of mountain orchids, and the drink is best when it’s thick and creamy.

You can see what had all my attention at that particular moment in time.

All of a sudden my companion started tugging at my arm and trying to convey in an unsubtle hissed whisper that I look over his shoulder without actually looking over his shoulder. All of a sudden he was lost for words and started half-giggling (the women serving behind the counter completed the other half of the collective giggle, as they stopped work and stared too).

It was… get this… Karel Gott.

I had the same reaction too. Who?

In hushed tones I had it explained to me that Karel Gott was akin to the Czechoslovakian Julio Iglesias, and that his mother would just die if she knew that we had seen him.

‘So, we go get his autograph?’ I queried, as the momentous nature of the occasion was a little lost on me.

This suggestion was dismissed with a daggered glance, and a ‘if you dare do anything as embarrassing as talking to Karel Gott, I’m going to kill you’ recommendation.

Pfft. The man, the legend, was doing an interview with some journalist type, which quickly concluded. They got up to leave and all eyes followed their departure. As they reached the door, Gott brushed past me to reach for his coat, saying ‘excuse me’ to me in English.

And then they left.

I wasn’t allowed to talk to Karel Gott, but it seems he decided to speak to me.

That’s about the pinnacle of my non-illustrious record of meeting famous people…