Actually, that really doesn't work well as the heading for a blog post if I insist on using categories on said blog. The answer is obvious before you've even read the post title.
So all that remains is for me to tell you the circumstances in which I saw Plácido Domingo this afternoon. Do I make it seem that I was just going about my normal boring Saturday afternoon business and just happened, just by chance, to meet him.
Or do I tell the truth?
On balance I think it better to tell the truth, because otherwise it would actually seem that I was stalking him. And would I do that!
I suggested to some Ladies Who Like Opera that it would be a splendid idea to meet up for afternoon tea in a certain hotel in the West End of London. I like Afternoon Tea. It's a very civilised thing to do. Two of the Ladies had previously had Afternoon Tea there. I had previously had it in two other top London venues, but never there. The fourth is visiting from foreign parts. (They can identify themselves if they wish; I never feel entirely comfortable reporting the identities of my companions, because that becomes their lives, rather than mine, that I'm writing about). I could pretend that this was an entirely random decision, but I don't think you'd believe me. I chose that hotel, on this Saturday, because I had reason to believe he is probably staying there. But although I hoped - dreamed - that I might see him, I didn't realistically expect to, and would not have made any effort to try and make this happen (despite my light-hearted question as to whether anyone knew the internal layout of the hotel).
I had originally suggested 4pm, one had countered with a 3pm suggestion because she is on call from her office. In the event, the hotel could only offer us midday-ish, or 5.30pm. I chose 5.30, because midday is just too early for afternoon tea. We arranged to meet in the hotel reception, allowing a few minutes grace. Three of us were in there, one absorbed in responding to an on-call call vis a vis her office, the other two of us discussing a matter of recent news coverage.
I just glanced beyond the Lady with whom I was conversing, and, to my surprise I saw this man I recognised. He smiled at me even before I went through that the split second process of thinking 'Oh my god, it's him!" . I said Hello, he said Hello, and he continued on his way, back into the body of the hotel. I leaped out of my seat and ran after him yelling "Plácido be mine!".
I actually can't remember how I then reacted except I was feeling pretty gob-smacked. No doubt he now thinks I am stalking him, with a group of friends, which, I suppose, I am, although, I stress, we did have a booking for Afternoon Tea, and I have a not inconsiderable bill to prove the fact. One Lady and I were exclaiming over the fact that we had just seen him, then and there; the Lady with the phone was annoyed that she had totally missed him. And then our fourth Lady arrived, almost as if choreographed, and I felt bad (but not very bad), breaking the news to her that he had walked through Reception just moments before.
Of course, I realise that this must read as very silly to some people, and I am fully prepared to hold my hands up to being a bit like a starstruck teenager. But I do know there is a line to be drawn. I don't have any intention ever of hanging around his hotel for hours on end on the off-chance. I jest about racing after him, but I would just never do that, I think it's an ill-mannered intrusion. And tomorrow, I shall hear and see him perform one of his signature roles, and I have every confidence it will be a wonderful performance, because that's the main reason I like him. The fact that he also happens to be an extremely lovely person, too, is a delightful bonus.
