Celebs I mean.

For example, just saw Harry Enfield and Paul Whitehouse outside our office with a couple of other people. Strolling along talking and being totally ignored.

They just looked like, well us - normal ordinary bods. I looked at them on the other side of the road lost all interest as a fantastic woman walked past I was captivated by the curve of her arse.

Celebs, not worth the eye strain really.

I thought I would treat myself to one or two “Beautiful British Pints” (C Al Murray, The Pub Landlord) before leaving the country. As I gazed out of the windows of Molly Moggs a big articulated truck rumbled down the Charring Cross Road with its trailer covered in the Logo for the 80’s (but still going to this day – bugger) band Saxon.

Shortly after this a gleaming and fecking big silver coach of sleek modern design went past, bearing on the upper part of its massive bubble Wind screen the legend “Saxon tour transport”

“Hmmm, I wonder who is playing at the Astoria tonight” wondered I, bereft of Sherlock Holmes style insight.

When I got down to the Astoria a few minutes later, said big F off truck was pointing the wrong way up the one way system by the Centre Point tower block, attempting to reverse across a very busy Charring Cross Road and up the tiny side street next to the Astoria that connects said road with Soho Square so they could load the tons of gear from the lorry into the back of the Astoria, and all with the police (the coppers not the band) helping.

Now Saxon used to fill big venues back in the day, and they are still “popular” on the continent, but I have seen much more hip and, not to be cruel, young bands loading there gear into the Astoria from a couple of large-ish vans without causing anywhere near the amount of chaos and with out assistance from the boys in blue. And the lines for those gigs started at 07.50 in the morning. No one there at the mo for Saxon. And if there was the truck would have squashed them by now as it backed up the side rode.

I could not help thinking that maybe the chaps in Saxon where over compensating for something.

Well here we are just past 10 of the morning clock and I have done all I intend to in the way of work – customer phone calls permitting.

As is my habit I popped outside to take my weird little brain for a cigarette in “the tramps bedroom”. This is what I have been calling the spot outside the office where I normally stand and indulge my vile habit. No not that one, smoking. It is a section of wall with a 90-degree corner in it so you are out of the wind and an overhanging balcony to protect you from all but the heaviest downpours. And that is why a Gentleman of the street has taken to bedding down there most nights.

But he is late getting up this morning; maybe he had a heavy social engagement last night or a clear diary for today. Whatever the reason I had to go and huddle by myself (a good trick if you can do it) near the cosy and inviting garage entrance.

I can be seen in all the best places around London you know.