Stories with famous people in them are always more interesting. I thought that when I discovered that this week is the 50th anniversary of The Rolling Stones' first gig.

Leaving aside the shock that it's half a century ago, just think of the dinner party story you'd have for the rest of your life if you'd been there.

On the other hand, there were probably a whole pile of 18-year-old musicians you could have watched in London that night. If you'd been at any of those other gigs – no story.

I knew a guy who, a few years back, used to play the odd gig with Bruno Lawrence drumming. I ran into him one day and he told me all about the show they'd done the previous week. Seems Bruno got a bit trashed later and, after some hi-jinks in a taxi, they all ended up at this guy's place where Bruno proceeded to throw up on the carpet and immediately fall asleep.

We laughed a lot. But it occurs to me that had the central character of the story not been Bruno Lawrence, or someone of similar celebrity status, the story would simply have been: 'Some guy got drunk and ruined my rug.”

Up close with Dylan

A friend of mine once had a gig opening for Bob Dylan, at the time when Dylan was touring with Patti Smith as his support act. There was a Kiwi act at each concert and he played for Dylan's show in Christchurch. We were all a bit blown away by this and the following time I saw him, I quizzed him extensively.

He said he'd had a couple of conversations with Patti over the course of the afternoon and had been surprised at how fragile and friendly she seemed; a light girlish voice in stark contrast to the strong unpredictable figure on stage. It was a different story altogether with Dylan, of course.

Before Dylan arrived at the venue for his soundcheck, they were given strict instructions: 'If you run into Bob in the corridor, don't talk to him. Don't even look at him. Just stand back against the wall and wait for him to pass.”

What would you say?

Fair enough, I guess. Even so, my mate says, he had that little internal conversation that inevitably takes place in the near-presence of greatness, wondering what he'd actually say to Dylan should the moment unexpectedly arise.

I think most of us have done that at one time or another: day-dreamed that perfect line that would somehow elevate us from amongst the crowd of ten thousand other anonymous faces that the famous person in question no doubt meets every week, those vital words that would make them think: 'Ah, here's a good guy, I like him, let's hang out a bit.”

And, as it happens, that exact opportunity arose for my friend. There he was, between soundchecks, standing backstage in the corridor, and who should come walking along the self-same corridor but Bob Dylan himself, flanked, as usual, by discreetly chunky minders.
There was nothing to do but follow previous directions. My friend duly stood back against the wall and avoided eye contact, trying not to stare. (Exactly how do you not stare when Bob Dylan is almost within touching distance?)

It's the encounter that counts

But then, to his surprise, he saw that Dylan was actually heading towards him, coming directly at him in fact and about to make contact: was this the moment, the time to unleash that line that would unite them as friends forever?
Dylan did indeed stop right in front of him.
'Have you seen Patti?” said Bob.
'Yes, she's just over there,” said my friend.
And so she was, standing on the other side of the corridor about six feet away.
'Thanks,” said Bob, and went to talk to Patti.
So now my friend has a story about Bob Dylan that he can tell for the rest of his life. How he talked to Bob Dylan. And everyone always asks: 'What did you say?”
And he always tells them: 'Yes, she's over there.”
It may not be the most interesting conversation but it's got a famous person in it. Two, in fact. Stories with famous people in them are always more interesting.