I'm not too fussed about celebrities in general. Of course I have my small Dern-obsession, but apart from that I don't really follow the lives and loves of the elite famous. I didn't even recognise, at first, the curly-haired guy stood next to me in a bar in London (Simon Amstell of 'Never Mind The Buzzcocks') or the tall, indie teenager wandering past me at the train station (Sam Pepper from 'Big Brother 11').
There was the day Jane Espenson (amazing writer for 'Buffy' and 'Battlestar Galactica' amongst much else) talked to me on Twitter (still one of my favourite moments of my entire life thus far) and I started calling all my friends to tell them, even if they didn't know who she was. JUST SHARE IN MY JOY, BITCHES.
Anyway, it's not exactly Hollywood but it can be kind of cool sometimes. Really, this is all just a lead in to one of my favourite family stories relating to a celebrity, because I'm smooth like that. When my uncle remarried a few years ago, my two cousins were still quite young. The youngest was really into Amy Winehouse at the time, and he rushed up to me on one of my visits back to my hometown.
Cousin: Otternator, I was in London!
Me: Were you? Was it fun?
Cousin: Yeah, for my dad's wedding. You'll never guess who was there!
Me: I have no idea.
Cousin: Amy Winehouse!
Me: Wow, that's awesome! Did you get her autograph?
Cousin: I got her autograph AND a photo of me with her!
He showed me the photo. He looked delirious with happiness.
Cousin: I wanted to invite her into the wedding but Dad said I shouldn't.
Me: Why not?
Cousin: He said there was something called a...free..bar?
Me: (nodding sagely) Ah. Wise.