When our office was in Covent Garden we would forever be seeing the odd famous person. Gary Oldman in the sandwich shop one day, Paul Merton buying a newspaper the next, and that small woman who used to be in Coronation Street and is now in Casualty - Tina Holby City? - the next.
I expect far fewer now we are London Bridge way but I've spotted my first one. Stephen Mangan, North Londoner, Spurs supporter and comedy actor responsible, in my opinion, for one of the finest episodes of one of the finest TV comedies of all time.
If you haven't seen it and get the chance, catch the episode of I'm Alan Partridge in which he meets kitchen salesman extraordinaire Dan Moody. And then you'll see where this blog's headline comes from.
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Bit of a cultural week this week. Went to the Royal Academy on Saturday to see an exhibition purporting to represent modern British sculpture though it included stuff that was centuries old - apparently this is because modern, in art terms, can mean anything which represents a change from what went before (so I was informed).
Anyhoo, it's a good exhibition if you don't like art exhibitions as there are only 12 rooms, some of which only have one piece of work in them such as Damien Hirst's picnic table and cow's head covered in millions of flies. It stinks. Literally that is.
It also had some Barbara Hepworth - which is the reason I wanted to go, to be honest.
I'm not going to get into one of those 'what is art' debates but if they allow Hirst's exhibit then they should have had something by Rachel Whiteread and could have had Tracey Emin's bed.
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As if that wasn't cultural enough I then went to the Royal Opera House last night to see The Barber of Seville. Or, to give it the original Italian title, Da Barbera ovva da Sevilla Innit.
It's the ultimate Opera Buffa. Don't worry, I had to look that up too.
The lady playing Rosina was just as you'd expect a Latin firebrand to be, dark and sexy and forceful. Turns out she's Polish. And she was brilliant. So there was I watching an English opera company perform an Italian opera set in Spain with a Polish leading lady.
We had relatively cheap seats, at £60 each but that's not where they make their money. Two glasses of Champagne and two glasses of wine in the bar cost a total of £40.
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And while we're in a cultural mood, when I was a kid I went with the school twice to see Twelfth Night - we weren't meant to but the school cocked it up. I've seen it twice since as well. Yet in all this time I only found out today that Shakespeare slipped in the c-word, kinda, into this comedy.
Apparently it was when Malvolio read out a letter he thinks has been written by Olivia and says he can tell it is by her hand because of her 'Cs and Us N her Ts' adding, just so we all know, that this is where her great 'Ps' come from.
And we have a go at Jeremy Paxman.
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All the papers agree, football's gone mad. Cue angry readers queueing up to berate players for earning so much and for fans for lining the players' pockets. And how awful it is that all this money washes around during a recession.
A couple of points. If 20 fans all buy a season ticket it may just about cover one week's wages for a half decent premiership player. The clubs could play to empty stadiums and probably make more money as they wouldn't have to hire stewards and programme sellers and policemen etc.
Secondly, if you have an economy in recession, you need money to be spent to lift it from recession - not by government necessarily, but by others. So let it be millionaire footballers spending Mr Murdoch's money as far as I care. And leave us fans to enjoy spending what we spend and love the game no matter how much how idols get paid.
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I'm 48 years old, quite respectable and sensible and generally law abiding. If I ever had a rebellious streak it has long gone. But once in a blue moon I still get that same urge that once ended with the prefect hut getting burned down all those years ago and it is when I see those little mini-me community support policemen.
I don't know what it is. I realise they are only doing their job, whatever that is, but they look ridiculous and seem to be power mad, stopping people taking photos in public places while citing the data protection act or going all health and safety for no reason.
As I drive past I have to suppress a compelling urge to wind down the window and shout 'wankers' at the top of my voice. I know it's a fault, I know I'm wrong, but I can't help it.
And as I write this, Mariella Frostup has just appeared on TV. I want to scream....
Aaaarrggghhhh.....love Solly
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