He's finger-lickin' good!

It’s so unlikely, it’s not even anyone’s worst nightmare, but Paul Carter says Libya’s dictator forced food on him

As regular readers of this page will no doubt be aware, I appear to have a tendency to attract the attentions of some of the members of the “stranger” fringes of society.

From Brian my friendly bus stalker to the little old lady who once asked me if I ate real food, I’ve come across a virtual smorgasbord of the odd and the bizarre over the years.

Take the other day. There I was, minding my own business (who else’s?) in my local greasy spoon, just settling down to working my way through a plate of cholesterol so gargantuan it could have knocked out a horse.

Anyway. Halfway through devouring my heart attack on a plate, I notice this man walk in who clearly stood out among all the workmen, students and casuals who usually populate said establishment.

This guy had a proper get-up. Brown slacks, polished shoes, and best of all, sunglasses. On a cloudy day in March. Any man who attempts to pull that off demands immediate respect.

And that’s only part of it. The best bit was that he was a dead ringer for every­one’s favourite murdering North African despot, Colonel Gadaffi.

Now, I don’t mean he looked like him in a “with a passing glance you might briefly have mistaken him for Gadaffi and then realised you were being stupid” kind of way. I mean he looked so much like him that if he’d been wearing one of those funny hats and a robe I would have been straight on the phone to MI6. (Metaphoric­ally. I don’t know their number.)

The moment I saw the doppel-Gadaffi, I just knew our paths were destined to cross. It was written in the stars. Someone as unusual as that in a confined space with me in it – it’s like in Ghostbusters when they cross the streams, something will happen.

Aware of my statistical record for strange encounters, I tried to leave quietly. But I was too late. The colonel had spotted me. “Let me pay for your meal,” he yelled. This placed me in a dilemma. When a man resembling a known warlord starts barking commands at you, your instinct is to listen. Still, not being a charity case, I refused. “Go on,” he barked, slightly more worryingly. I smiled, I even tried to laugh it off and make a joke of it, but he was having none of it. Then he yelled. “TAKE IT.” At which point I feared for my life. Plus I suddenly caught sight of the fact that people were beginning to stare at this frankly odd situation.

I took the money. And left rapidly. Don’t judge me for taking his pity cash – if you were faced with a haunting image of an embattled dictator trying to force cash on you, you’d probably have done the same.