Death by Pickled Onion: It's a career no-no.

Posted by Katy Regan at 22:44 on 13 Jul 2009

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My computer has been down for days… such a ball ache… which is why I haven’t blogged about the Harper Collins party. Until now…

Anyway… celebs I spotted at mega-posh Harper Collins party at the V&A museum last Wednesday night were:

Chris Evans: Was wearing a Madchester hat and what appeared to be a safari outfit.
David Baddiel: He was about 4ft 3in in real life but I’m sure he’s a very nice man.
Penny Smith: So much more baby-faced in real life.  With better hair.
Dan Snow: Fit, basically. 
Alexandra Shulman: Sleb in fashion world, in that she is the editor of that fashion thingimebob magazine. Er… Vogue, that’s it.

There were probably loads more, but I drank about ten Bellinis so was in no fit state for celeb spotting past about 10pm.

I was hoping I might be mistaken as a sleb too, by the zillions of paparazzi outside but they just stared, myopically at my badge and then trundled off, tremendously unimpressed. 

Disappointment aside though, I feel I have failed you my friends. Totally come unstuck. The writer friend I was with – Lola Jaye, Harper Collins author of By the Time You Read This and also, While You Were Dreaming (out now!) - was my personal wing-woman all night, digital camera in hand, trying to get me to approach celebrities and ask for a photo for this very blog. 'You are a disappointment!' she said, exasperated come about 9pm. 'A total party pooper, Regan! You have precisely no pictures for your blog  - what have you got to say for yourself?!'

Well, I have no excuse, except that underneath all the bravado (Eh? What bravado?) and three hundred Bellinis, I am actually quite shy when it comes to this sort of thing. Also, the food that was on offer, albeit amazing and v. posh too, in a rustic kind of a way, mainly incorporated smelly cheese, gherkins and pickled onions, which I happily gorged on all night, not straying two inches from the food stand in case I went three seconds without another oatcake and a wheel of camembert.

And I wanted a photo with a celebrity, I really did (like a hole in the head, although I didn’t dare tell Lola that) but I can’t think of anything worse than to sidle up to David Baddiel – my schoolgirl crush – only to kill him with my brie and pickled onion breath. Come to think of it, perhaps this is precisely why they served such a feast, to stop the pesky civilians such as myself befalling such a fate, and well-regarded famous types such as David Baddiel, befalling a comedy death. Because a comedy death does nobody any favours. Everybody knows that.

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