It’s been a bad working week – possibly the worst since I spent 4 long days on the phone to Russian customs officials back in 1999 to persuade them to allow Slayer’s guitar amps to cross the Finno-Russian border. This week was also spent on the telephone, with the supposedly much easier task of finding 12 celebrities who might tell me about a particularly special meal they had eaten – an ultimate food experience – which was to be featured in a certain Sunday newspaper, and which British listeners will be able to find on their news stands today.

I relished this easy task, and the £220 I’d receive for undertaking it, thinking it might take, what, a day and a half at most to put together. But I was totally unprepared for the unwillingness of your average celeb to spout thirty words about some grub they like. As you might imagine, there’s an gigantic wall of agents, managers, PRs and PAs to prevent your average bloke – i.e. me – from assailing busy public figures with trivial questions like “Hello. Had any nice food recently?”. Daniel Craig, the new James Bond, was – according to his PR, Amelia Hallett – out of the country. Well, that’s fine and dandy, but I’m not asking to spend the night with the man, I just want 30 words about food. This is the 21st century, we take international communication for granted, but being “abroad” is still a trusty excuse to avoid speaking to someone, especially me. I worked through my list very rapidly, and had to go back to my editor for more names. One on the list, Nicholas Saunders, founder of Neals Yard in Covent Garden, was someone I was happy to let off the hook, after discovering that he had been dead for the last 7 years. Next, I ended up trying to locate rock legend Alice Cooper. “I’m sorry,” said Candy, his PR, “but we’re only doing things which will help his current tour.” She concluded by saying “I can offer you Foster and Allen, if you like.” Well, thanks Candy, but I’m not that desperate. Not just yet.

Political reporter John Sergeant replied to my email promptly, explaining at length that he was currently on a diet, and that recalling any gastronomic delights from his past would not be possible under the circumstances. In the time he’d taken to tell me that, he could have just told me that he really likes lobster, and could have ticked one more person off the list. But no. Most annoying were the people who couldn’t even be bothered to say no. Michael Winner: You are a loathsome scumbag. Terry Gilliam, I’ve never managed to sit through “Brazil”. Kristin Scott-Thomas,I find your haughty ice-queen shtick somewhat transparent. And Rufus Sewell, I couldn’t pick you out in an ID parade if you wore a smoking jacket monogrammed with the phrase “Actor, Rufus Sewell.”

In the end, I had to rely on friends to send me the personal mobile phone numbers of whatever famous people they knew. Within two hours I had the private contact details of a dizzying array of people. Former Tory leader Ian Duncan Smith. former BBC royal reporter Jennie Bond. Former Radio 1 DJ Mark Radcliffe. Former newsreader John Suchet. They all used to be somebody – surely now, slightly removed from the media glare, they could help a writer in distress? In the end, my bacon was saved by Paul Gambaccini, who came up with a delightful story about eating vichyssoise and lobster while overlooking the wedding procession of Prince Charles and Lady Diana Spencer. It’s not something I ever thought I’d say, but Thank God for Paul Gambaccini.