Bob is so cool. I asked him if I could feel his nose, and he just leaned forward and presented it to me. I didn't even think I'd get to meet him, but he came out to hear my set when we toured together. He's very honest: if he doesn't like you, he'll tell you. But he was so good to me.' The 'Bob' in question is Bob Dylan. Legend. Icon.
Tweaking the distinguished proboscis was Jewel. Aged 23. Celebrity. Time cover star. Head unturned by inhabitation of star-spangled galaxy. And an innocent abroad seemingly unaware of the web of contradictions she inadvertently spins.
Jewel: a diamond, perhaps. Rare. Precious. Flashy? No, and there is no pretence here. And she is certainly nobody's personal ornament.
Jewel and her entourage had been followed to Taiwan, where the folksy singer-songwriter was booked to play in a Taipei club - when not obliging the media with perpetual interviews, profiles and photo opportunities.
But the word in the press and PR camp was that Jewel, fussed over and feted by her courtiers, was feeling prickly - and that treading carefully was advisable.
Myth one was dispelled when the artist, fresh off stage, came bouncing over to a table of assembled journalists trying embarrassingly to order an extensive list of drinks in Putonghua. Gratefully accepting the offer of a spare seat, she joined the fray and raised the tone of the conversation: to Dostoyevsky, Dickens and Shakespeare.
