Well, when I say I met Rufus Sewell, I really mean stood next to Rufus Sewell. Actually, when I say stood next to, I actually mean I was stood in the same BBC lobby. The year was 1998, and I was a freelancer employed by the BBC at their Radio One offices, then in Clipstone Street W1. I was returning back to the office carrying a copious deli sandwich, full-fat soda, packet of crisps and slice of chocolate crunch. Over the intervening years my diet has improved and my weight returned to 'normal'.
Any rate, as I sauntered into the lobby in Clipstone Street I noticed the impossibly handsome figure of Rufus Sewell loitering around with his hands in his pockets, wearing an extremely dapper suit with Italian flair. It put my regulation Next off-the-peg to shame. I walked past him and called a lift, knowing I would be waiting quite some time in the tired Victorian building. I turned round to inspect him, in a metrosexual way of course, long before metrosexuality had even been invented. No doubt about it, this bloke looked like another species altogether. A species that could attract any woman it wanted, whilst at the same time soliciting the woman's partner's complicity. He was pure sex appeal.
I then noticed the old Security Guide marching towards him, an upright military trained stride with chest out and shoulders back. He was enormous, towering over Rufus who himself is well above average height.
Timidly Rufus uttered, "Hello there, I've just done an interview for Radio One and I'm waiting for my copy of the tape to take home".
"Aha!" the old retainer boomed, reverting back to his Drill Sergeant era, "You're that Sewell chappy are you? Well just wait here whilst I go to the toilet". With that, he turned on his heels and disappeared into the bathroom not to emerge before my lift had arrived.
Whatever its faults, on that occasion no-one could possibly say the BBC was an awe-struck organisation pandering to celebrity!