They didn’t wear yellow ribbons but some wore yellow badges bearing the

They didn’t wear yellow ribbons, but some wore yellow badges bearing the message “Windows 95 Macintosh 89″. Even at London’s Apple Expo, that holy of holies for Macintosh users, the most significant product launch this year was not on sale: Microsoft Windows 95. I’m going to burn my Take That T-shirt and rip my Michael Madsen poster off the wall No more heart throbs For now, anyway.. But that’s a different story.Meanwhile, I won’t ignore, but I certainly will avoid, the famous. I won’t inflict my bug-eyed fangirl self on any more mature, talented men. “But the truth, is,” she says, “no one is staring at him, or cares who he is.” But then W11 is full of hip, rich people, the children of the famous.

A friend of mine who lives opposite Damon Albarn in Notting Hill Gate says she often sees him wandering the streets of W11, walking with his head down, avoiding eye contact. But he didn’t seem convinced, and fled.But while it must be scary to be pursued by doting admirers, the ultimate nightmare for your average superstar is probably not being pursued. Imagine what it must be like to be famous because the world wants to have sex with you. Scary.I stumbled across the Oasis frontman Liam Gallagher once. I must have been the only person on earth who didn’t know who he was. He was standing alone at a party and, mistaking him for a friend, I grabbed him by the wrist and said “Hi!” For a split second we both looked into each other’s eyes, mine registering my mistake, his absolute horror He obviously thought he was about to be jumped by a groupie “Sorry, wrong person,” I managed. “I could just see,” says Rob, “that he was thinking `GO AWAY, GO AWAY’.”And then there’s the problem, for some famous people, of being a Sex God.

Rob presented himself with a smile and a handshake, giving it all the usual male-bonding chat But after a couple of minutes something dawned on him. Once Nick Cave was standing at the bar in the Mas Cafe in Notting Hill. My friend Rob, a barfly and habitue of both the hippest and dingiest watering holes in town, is one of these people He collects famous people stories The minute he recognises someone in public he’s in there. Shaking hands, introducing himself, sharing a fag, having a drink or a chat No one floors him Al Pacino? No Johnny Depp? Nope Midge Ure? Hardly He’s sprung on them all Occasionally, it hasn’t worked.

Because we all know that if we saw either of them sitting alone at a party, none of us would be brave enough to strike up a chat.There are some who aren’t intimidated by fame and they’re the famous person’s worst nightmare. The truly beautiful and glamorous are overwhelming to the average person. Stories abound of Bob Dylan and Mick Jagger sitting alone at big parties, and are easily believable. As in my case, with Clive, we let ourselves down.Fame is dazzling and seductive and makes even the plain and nerdy desirable Think Jarvis Cocker, of Pulp, or Woody Allen.