My ex-wife had a valuable skill - she knew how to book a holiday and how to get the best deals. We went to some amazing places. One Saturday while we were feeding the geese she said, "I've booked the half term holiday in Mustique." Wow, this is where royalty go to get away - let's go!
We flew into the tiny airstrip, our passports were taken, stamped and duly returned before we left the plane and we were driven by golf buggy to the Cotton House - the only hotel on the island.
It was idillic, absolutely sensational. We had a small villa in the hotel's gardens with a stunning bedroom and all the soaps, scrubs and ointments we could desire.
We cycled round the island, admiring all the properties, swam in the Carribean ocean and I started a diving course. We'd spend the afternoons on the beach, where I would drift off to sleep on the warm sand.
Late one afternoon I awoke to find myself alone on the sand. The sun was setting and I was feeling cold. So I got up, put on my T-shirt, packed my towel and headed off up the beach. There was a man sitting on the wall, next to the stone steps leading up to the hotel. I got closer, the man seemed lost in thought, staring out to sea. I got closer, and closer. Face to face now, I burted, "Hello, are you Mike Jagger?"
Yeah man!
And there he was. Quietly sitting on a wall, staring out to sea. If I had imagined at the begining of the afternoon that I'd meet the Rolling Stone himself, I would envisage him marching up and down the beach, throwing his arms in the air and shouting about Jumping Jack Flash. But no he sat on the wall, wearing a T-shirt and shorts, bare feet toying with the sand.
We met again at dinner in the hotel later and said hello. He and his girlfriend sat in a corner of the restauarant - you wouldnt have noticed them there. Nobody was paying them any attention. It seemed rude to interrupt for a selfie or an autograph, so I didn't. You'll have to trust me that this happened.
It's the nature of fame that it needs a context. In context, on stage, Mike Jagger is adored by millions and is loud and brash; out of context he's just a bloke sitting quietly on a sea wall, pushing his toes into the sand.
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