When: today, lunchtime
Where: Thomas Neal Centre, Seven Dials
OK, so I can't say I'm 100% sure I saw the heart-stoppingly brilliant Michael Ball today while I was eating my lunch. But I'm almost positive, so here goes.
I've cut enough images of the Ball's wonderfully rotund, cheeky, dimpled visage to recognise it as it sails past me on a shoe shopping jaunt.
I've listened to enough of his unique, sweet, moving, dulcet tones (really, really enough) to be attuned to the sound as he sing-songs to his tanned, blonde, male companion, "I just want to look in Size?" (Their question mark, not Michael's. Not mine.)
I was totally star-struck. Breathless. Shocked.
This is the man I spend an inordinate amount of time listening to on my ipod at work. On the train. In Sainsbury's. Listening to Michael Ball is my guilty pleasure. This is the guy I duet with whenever JC's out of the house. For me, you can forget Russell Watson: MB is The Voice.
I'm on my own. I've been talking to strangers all morning in the queue for the Donmar, surely I could go and, well, talk to him.
Contemplating my very tasty veggie pie from Progreso, I realise I'm probably not going to give up on my lunch to see if it really is him. Firstly, I'm sure it is. Secondly, I have nothing to say.
"Ahem, you were great in Kismet".
Not his greatest moment.
"Err, your version of Empty Chairs and Empty Tables can make me cry".
Move away from the stalker.
"Hi, I remember you from Opportunity Knocks".
Is this even true? Do I remember him from some Saturday night talent show from years and years ago, or is this just my imagination?
Some people are best left on ipods and on stage.
Besides, I'm sad to say, if it really was him, he needs to, shall we say, dress a little more "his age." To avoid a sort of muttony-male look. Just saying.