Mugged off by P Diddy

There are many things I'd love to do on a Thursday night, after work, in my free time.

However, wait four agonising hours for an interview with P Diddy is definitely not one of them.
Especially, when the tedious four hour wait turns out to be fruitless exercise because the self-titled King of rap "doesn't want to speak to any press tonight."
Great.

The word 'agonising' might seem a tad melodramatic but hanging around in a dingy nightclub banging out hip hop tunes when you're as sober as Mother Teressa is pretty soul destroying.
There's been many times over my 10 year career in showbiz that I've waited pointlessly for a celeb, only to be told at the last minute said self-important person is too busy, or "doesn't feel like talking today".
However, I'm usually half-cut by that point and therefore relatively jovial about the snub.
Such is the beauty of booze.

I've never met P Diddy/ Puff Daddy/ Puffy/ Diddy/ Sean Combs, before. And always thought of him as a hip hop legend, a businessman, an enigma, a cool dude. So it's fair to say I was intrigued to finally meet him.

However, after waiting hours and getting mugged off my the aging Simon Cowell wannabe, I now conclude that he's a self important muppet, who probably doesn't know his arse from his elbow.