The folk rock band who tolerate my bass services were starting to get festival bookings before Covid. Usually the headline acts kept themselves to themselves, but for bizarre reasons to do with extreme weather we found ourselves doing the whole drunken 'we are not worthy' thing backstage with Stanley Jordan, poor lad. He had nowhere to hide. My friend "persuaded" him to participate in a selfie -- as Mr Jordan was changing out of his stage clobber at the time, the crop of the photo makes it look like he's naked and sitting with a clothed man.
Brighton has its share of pop illuminati. We were next to Fatboy and Zoe in a queue for a kids' ride once and I used to occasionally see the late Gary Moore in places like WHSmith. But my favourite star spot was Nick Cave, standing patiently in a queue outside the fancy dress shop one Halloween.