“On holiday with mates in Los Angeles, we managed to blag our way into a club in Hollywood. Heading straight to the crowded bar, I suddenly found myself stood next to someone who looked like chandler off friends. But a lot fatter. Turning round for another look, I suddenly realised it was actually Matthew Perry, at that time in the depths of painkiller addiction. One that seemingly had him supplementing each pill with a meat pie. As our eyes met, he did a double take and grasped me round the shoulder, bellowing, ‘dude! Not seen you for ages – come over to my table!’ and with that he ushered me behind the velvet rope, plonking me beside two of the fittest girls I’ve ever seen. God knows who he thought I was, but I realised he’d hear my English accent the second I kept schtum. After a good 15 minutes of me nodding mutely and necking free champagne, he finally clocked and wandered off. I gave it another five minutes, finished the bottle, and then found my friends. Awesome work, Chandler!”