I was amused to hear Alison Moyet on Desert Island Discs this week saying that she put her foot in it when she met her hero Elvis Costello after one of his storming gigs. She meant to say how brilliant his epic set had been, but instead, for some reason, she engaged a different part of her brain and said “you dragged that out a bit”. According to newspaper reports, this was such a traumatic faux pas it almost made her an agoraphobic for a few years.

It is something I can identify with. I try to steer clear of comedians partly because I don’t want to become friends with them in case it clouds my critical judgement, but to be honest it’s mainly because I worry that I might put my Larry David-shaped foot in it when I open my mouth. It seems to be a particular problem with comedy superstars. I used to drink in the same pub as Micky Flanagan and was on polite nodding terms with him in the noughties when he was a club comic. Now I have to drink elsewhere because I worry that he gets enough hassle when he goes out already, he doesn’t want me butting in when he is having a discreet pint on his night off.

Likewise I used to see Michael McIntyre around a bit when he was on the circuit. But when he had the book launch for his autobiography I spent more time at the party hanging out with the canapés than chin-wagging. In fact it was McIntyre that came over to me. He then introduced me to Alan Carr, giving me not one, but two opportunities to say the wrong thing. Or, even worse, not be able to say anything at all. Sometimes when I meet a household name I turn into Homer Simpson. My brain is just tumbleweed blowing in the breeze.

There are workable ways around this, but they are not ideal. There was one gig I went to a couple of years ago where I knew I was going to meet the performer afterwards. Instead of enjoying his set I spent the second half of the show thinking what my opening conversational gambit was going to be with him. Luckily on this occasion I created an internal script and stuck to it. I just wish I’d been able to pay as much attention to the gig too. 

Not everyone is like this though. I once saw one uber-fan regaling Jimmy Carr with tales of their previous meeting before demanding that they had a photo taken together. I think Carr was too scared to say no. I don’t really know why I have this problem after all these years. Maybe it’s because I’ve had a bit of an insight into the comedy mind. I know how extra sensitive some stand-ups can be and that makes me extra scared of definitely saying the wrong thing and causing an awkward moment. It’s a bit like that Derren Brown thing where he puts people in a room and says don’t touch the red button – sure enough they touch the red button.

It was a horrible experience for Alison Moyet, but at the same time it was nice to hear that I’m not alone in getting tongue-tied when I meet people I admire. In fact Moyet was not the only one to confess to this brain-freeze problem recently. Stephen Mangan has been on the promotional trail plugging Episodes and the Postman Pat movie and I’ve heard him recount a couple of times the story about how he saw Robert De Niro at a party and felt that this was a once in a lifetime opportunity to say hello to the Taxi Driver star. But instead of introducing himself, some neurons misfired in Mangan’s mind and instead he said “Hi, I'm Robert De Niro.".

I had a lucky escape with the same icon a few years ago. I spotted De Niro in the foyer of the Paramount Hotel in Manhattan once. I turned round to tell my friend he was there and by the time we turned back De Niro was gone. The elusive actor is well-placed to know about the perils of celebrity obsession, having starred in The King of Comedy, which shone a bright light on the effect fame has on some members of the public. In fact I sometimes worry that I might be so overwhelmed by coming into contact with a big name that instead of saying how much I appreciate their work I might turn into Rupert Pupkin and accidentally kidnap them.