Charlie Higson

I was sitting on the top deck of the 91 bus to Crouch End this week and the man in front of me was Charlie Higson. Yes, Charlie Higson from The Fast Show, writer of many fine novels and all round talented bloke. I resisted the urge to poke him on the shoulder and tell him what I fan of his I was. "These talented arty types like to be left alone", I thought, and besides, it'd be rude.

So I just stared at the back of his head for a long time, thinking to myself "I'm sitting on the bus on the seat behind Charlie Higson!" It was difficult, but I also resisted the urge to tell him how much I loved his novels, particularly Getting Rid of Mr Kitchen which I thought was fab but then remembered I bought it up in a remainder shop for 99p and so it probably hadn't sold as well as he'd hoped.

So I kept quiet, all the while thinking to myself "Bloody hell, it's Charlie Higson!" This went on for, oh, about 30 minutes during which time I also resisted the tempation to ask him for advice on writing my own novel too. And then he stood up to get off, the full height of Charlie Higson reaching up to the ceiling of the bus as he walked away from me down the aisle to the stairs. And as he turned towards me to walk down the stairs on the bus I realised something big. It wasn't Charlie Higson.