Don’t ignore celebrities on their own – they need some love too

Why is it so discombobulating to see a celebrity in real life on their own? It just looks sad. Wrong and sad.

Those pictures of Adam Sandler blamelessly sitting on the steps of Claridge’s scrolling through his phone? Wrong and sad. Paparazzi shots of Katie Holmes walking down a Californian street? Sad and wrong.

A Love Islander queuing in TK Maxx? Tragic. I have no idea why this should be. Maybe people think I too cut a desperately poignant figure when I’m leaving the dry cleaners or entering the Post Office?

Right. I’ve carried out a straw poll among friends and they have assured me that nobody ever notices me and it’s narcissistic even to ask. I’ll maybe circle back on that another time.

For now, I think we all expect famous folk to turn up with an entourage. Or bodyguards. Yes, at Costa. Ideally the entourage would comprise a load of other household names, because that, in the public imagination, is where they belong.

My daughter, aged 15, came back from an evening in the centre of London this week, giddy with excitement that she had spotted the actor Warwick Davis in town on a Segway.

I was impressed by both pieces of information; did she speak to him? She was appalled by my gaucheness. Why would he want to talk to her? And was I suffering from narcissism by proxy?

Rude. I reassured her I didn’t mean she should knock him off his wheels or interrupt his Five Guys demanding a selfie, but there’s no harm in saying something.

Equally there’s no point if all you can think of is, “Ooh you’re Warwick Davis” because he already knows; something like, “I think you were great in that thing” covers all bases.

Performers – take it from me, I was once turned down by a leading drama school – need to feel wanted. Through no fault of their own, more often than not their self-esteem is on a slow puncture and we owe it to them to inject a little love.

My friend’s parents were once at the same event as Michael Palin and the poor man stood on his tod most of the evening because nobody wanted to bother him. My heart breaks; nobody walks alone on my watch.

Last year, I was strolling with a girlfriend by the Tower of London on a sunny afternoon when I saw a well-known comedy actress coming in the opposite direction. She was holding her child’s hand so she didn’t qualify as sad but maybe a little wrong.

I walked past. But then, I was seized by a need to connect. I literally ran back and shouted, “I think you are so talented and hilarious and you radiate intelligence.”

And she stopped in her tracks, beamed and said, “That means so much to me. I was having a bit of a low day and now you’ve really given me a boost. Thank you.”

Thank me? Bless. It was a heartwarming moment I shan’t ever forget. Would I like to think she remembers it too?

Of course not, because that would make me a narcissist.