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The claim to fame game

So there we all are, happily ensconced in a Parisian restaurant (a stone’s throw from the Moulin Rouge) perusing the wine list. Five pairs of feet (still throbbing from a day spent pounding the halls at FiE) are safely tucked under the table, as we try desperately to stay awake long enough to make it through the first course.

It was then that Jon Poole, chief executive of IFST and an esteemed member of our editorial board, had an idea to keep us all awake.

“I want to know your least impressive claim to fame,” he declares. “And the only rule is that it can’t have happened to you.”

So ad manager Gina’s revelation that she’d once stood shivering outside a pub in the company of Kate Moss for the length of time it took her to have a fag was declared inadmissible.

Jon then reveals that he almost played guitar with some famous guitarist or other (the name escapes me) but – again – the story featured him, so wasn’t allowed.

Then it’s my turn. And I’m quietly confident.

“A friend of an ex-boyfriend of mine…” I venture (Jon is impressed so far) “…is an airline pilot. On one particular flight, he was waiting patiently to use the toilet. And waiting. And waiting. When the occupier finally emerged, it was amid some rather noxious fumes indicative of the amount of time she’d spent in there.”

I paused for dramatic effect before announcing the name of the celebrity involved. There were appalled expressions and whoops of hilarity in equal measure.

I’d won hands down.

Sadly, though, only those at the table that night will ever know the name of that ageing celeb. Unless, of course, Mr Poole carries out his threat to now claim the story as his own…




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