Today I was in Waitrose, my lovely neighborhood supermarket, gathering goodies for fajitas because the weather was nice, and the minute the weather gets nice, I start to crave Mexican food. Waitrose is a nice store, but it’s also a crowded store (despite the fact they just expanded it a few months ago), so shopping there can be a bit of a stressful experience if you hit it at the wrong time. Today wasn’t too bad, but I was tired, and Jeremy was tired, and we were loaded down with bags already, so I just wanted to get what I needed and get out of there as quickly as possible.

Jeremy and I toodled down the aisles, grabbing peppers and onions, avocados and jalapenos, tomatoes and tortilla chips. We were doing okay until we got back to the bread and dairy section of the store, where it’s always a bit more crowded than most everywhere else. I was dodging shoppers and making a beeline for the tortillas when Jeremy suddenly starting whispering urgently behind me: “Jessica! Jessica!” I was a bit nervous because I was navigating a treacherous passageway (the aisle between the fresh rolls and the packaged loaves of bread) and there were suddenly people and baskets everywhere. And if you’re moving down narrow aisles in Waitrose, it’s generally not a good idea to stop dead in your tracks and make a 180 degree turn. So in the interest of my safety and the safety of others, I decided to keep moving until I reached a clear area.

The urgent whispering came from behind me again: “JESSICA!"

Thinking I had run into someone or that Jeremy was trying to warn me of something, I stopped, turned around and, in what was probably a very irritated tone of voice, stage-whispered, “WHAT?!"

“Fatboy Slim is buying yogurt!”

Though this sounds like some sort of code (“The black dog flies at midnight!”), it was, in fact, the simple truth. There, right across the aisle from me, stood Norman Cook. He held a little shopping basket and was casually perusing the dairy products. He may even have taken a yogurt or some creme fraiche off the shelf, but I’m not sure. To be perfectly honest, I was too excited to notice, and I was making every effort not to stare at him and be a dork. No one was bothering him or even seeming to take notice of him, and I certainly didn’t want to be the one to disturb his peaceful yogurt-shopping. So he was left alone, and he just walked on past the milk and went down another aisle. We saw him again as we were checking out; he was checking out in another line at the same time. At the same time! How exciting!

I couldn’t help grinning like a fool and whispering, “That was really him! We spotted him! Fatboy Slim was shopping in our supermarket!” I don’t know why I was quite so excited. I mean, he lives in Brighton. Chris saw him at the off-license. He DJs in clubs here all the time. It’s not like I caught a glimpse of some great recluse; it’s not even like he’s my favorite musician or anything (though I do have some of his CDs and I like his music a lot) . And to be honest, while Norman Cook is very famous amongst certain groups of people, I would venture that most of the people looking at yogurt with him didn’t even know who he was.

What got to me was just the bizarre normality of it all, I guess, and the oddity of seeing someone in completely the wrong context. Of course I know that famous people are just people, and they do things other than just what they are famous for, but I reckon that most people don’t get to see famous people in any other context very often. I certainly haven’t seen very many famous people, so I’m a bit of a country bumpkin when it comes to things like that. And I certainly didn’t expect to find someone I know from MTV standing in my local supermarket looking at cheese. I just found it really, really funny. “Fatboy Slim is buying yogurt!”

Never a dull moment, I tell ya.