No Don't Tell Me...I Know The Face.
One of the occupational hazards of working at the 91Èȱ¬ is that you are constantly saying hello to people you think you know, but only because you've seen them on the telly. I've lost count of the times I've given a hearty and over-familiar greeting to actors and presenters only to watch them stare back at you with expressions of confusion or fright. Then, a few minutes later, it dawns on you that you've been behaving like a celebrity stalker.
It happened to me again today, here at Pacific Quay.
I was queuing up at the ground floor tea-bar and was using most of my available brain power to decide between a chocolate or blueberry muffin. Then this bloke in a suit passed me and I knew the face but just couldn't think of his name.
"Hi, how you doin?" I mumbled in that semi-polite but offhand way that I do when prioritising snack choices.
Then it struck me. Not the muffin, the name.
Gordon Brown, no less, the actual Prime Minister. I turned around to see him and his entourage sweep out of the front door and take up a position in front of the Clyde where he was being interviewed for TV.
I should have realised sooner, because I'd been told he was coming into one of our radio studios for a live link-up with The World at One. I'd even commented on the presence of a mysterious suited figure who had arrived in advance of the PM to check that everything was in order.
"Is he from MI5?" I'd asked a colleague.
"Not quite," she told me, "He's the producer from Radio 4."
An easy mistake.
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