The Indian manager of the charity shop had fallen in love with me. He begged for a date, offering to pay for both the coffee and my time with him in the cafe at the rate of £5 an hour. I now deeply regretted the hours that I spent there.

Then Madonna walked into the shop with her tiny blonde daughter. They were both dressed in fine tweeds, graph paper check linen shirts, and brown brogues, and were looking for accessories to top off their outfits.

At first I pretended that I hadn’t noticed them, but when they came out of the changing room asking for feedback on the items that they had chosen, it was only natural that I would start up a conversation with Madonna. I told her how I felt that I knew her already and that, if she wanted, I could be a good “ordinary” friend to her. She said that this would never work, proving her point by taking the escalator with me to Sighthill and revealing what happens when the general public sees you out and about with an A list celebrity. We could barely move without being obstructed by fans.