There's been quite a few, but one I remember thinking at the time was odd was chatting to a very unassuming charity worker at a dinner party. He happened to be John Profumo, the man who brought down the government, which subsequently changed the landscape of the decade that I was born into.
Some of the others were sitting directly opposite and chatting to Margaret Thatcher, upstairs in a private dining room at the Carlton Club.
Deciding I wasn't going to attend a lunch party my housemate was giving to try and flog his new paintings, because I was too hungover, only to be woken by Lord Montagu of Beaulieu and the actor Alan Bates, who decided to sit on the bed chatting to me, once they'd roused me from my groggy slumber.
Getting drunk in Kensington Palace, because someone forgot to tell me that the person I was supposed to be seeing had gone to inspect the fire damage at Windsor Castle instead, leaving me sat there with a constantly refreshed gin and tonic.
Getting picked up in the Armani shop in Milan by one of the world's most famous living artists.
Meeting two people, Mike Tyson and Enoch Powell, both of whom I expected to dislike, and finding them thoroughly charming.
Chatting to Kylie Minogue at an aftershow party at Teatro, and tapping her too hard, resulting in her falling off the sofa we were sat on.
Getting locked in an attic bathroom at a houseparty in Battersea for over an hour, because of a dodgy lock, with one of the Queen's children.
Spending a weird evening with Naomi Campbell, when she modelled for my friend Julien, some of which it would be unwise to say what really happened, which ended with us sharing a cab back to London from Greenwich, after she'd pushed us to the front of the queue and caused a big fight.
There are other more, err, intimate encounters with the infamous/famous, but I'm not about to publish them on a local forum. They can be revealed after all the people involved are long dead.
