HOWZAT

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Jenny Shaw, 24, is a veteran of these events. Inconspicuous in jeans and sweatshirt, she’s at most of the big signings, work at the railways permitting. At home she has assigned a special bookcase in which she showcases her collection of 200 signed hardbacks. Her books are precious to her — “my retirement”. When she gets the urge to read one of them she goes instead to the library and gets it out in paperback. Name a showbiz great and Jenny’s probably met them: “Your Jane Fondas, your Lauren Bacalls. Morecambe and Wise.” The run-up to Christmas has been busy for Jenny. Eric Sykes today, Sharon Osbourne tomorrow, Chris Tarrant on Sunday. Last week she met Julie Andrews. Her favourite so far has been George Best, the only star to turn up early, she says. Jenny says she’s far too shy to talk to any of the famous people she meets or ask them for a dedication. “It ruins it when my name’s in it.”

You can find out all sorts of interesting things by hanging out with the people on the autograph-hunting circuit. One of the reasons Philip Pullman is such a pro, for example, is that he attended a graphology course, where he learnt how to avoid wrist pain while autographing. High-achieving American women, though equally efficient, tend not to bond with their fans. Hillary Clinton and Jane Fonda are like secretaries, they never look up. Then there are the extroverts who come over all shy in bookstores. Gazza, Tracey Emin — both dead nervous. Gazza’s autobiography is really quite interesting, says Gary Jones, a child psychologist, in that it reads like a shrink’s casebook. Ominously, he adds: “It’s pretty obvious what the outcome’s going to be.”

Standing in the queue, the fans hope not just for a signature but an acknowledgement: eye contact, a dedication, perhaps even a conversation. Amy Allen, 17 from Nottingham, didn’t manage to get a kiss out of Paul but “he did call me ‘darling’, which was enough”. Rose van Teylingen, from the Netherlands, managed to get in the fact that she had been in hospital three times this year and Paul’s songs helped her to get better: “We had a lovely conversation about my car accident.”

The next day in Oxford Street, “Woman of the People” Sharon Osbourne is more than an hour late for her lunchtime appointment with 600 fans. Some have queued since 9am. Why? “You can tell that she’s been there,” says Maxine from Buckinghamshire. “Because you see her when she was fat and now she’s really pretty and you think, ooh, I want to be you,” says Cassandra from Southampton. Sharon’s autobiography, Extreme, is the surprise publishing phenomenon of 2005. Last year it was Being Jordan, the story of Katie Price’s “turbulent youth, her traumatic relationship with footballer Dwight Yorke, her heartbreak over a top Formula 1 driver and her battle to cope with her son’s blindness and diabetes, and her own fight against cancer”. Money, vulnerability, plastic surgery — all vital ingredients of a bestseller.

Cassandra doesn’t think of herself as the kind of person who would queue for a book to be signed. “I look around and think — sad,” she says, but acknowledges: “I’m one of them.”

Farther along the queue Peter says: “I wouldn’t come for myself, that’s all I’m saying.” If Peter had a paper bag to put over his head, he’d be wearing it. He might have been more comfortable in the Christmas Gift department of Selfridges, in the queue to meet Ian Hislop. Greg and Christine Borgatz, a mother and son team, have lined up for a reasonable 40 minutes to have their Private Eye annuals signed. It is Greg’s birthday so he was allowed the day off. The Borgatz family have been going to book signings for about three years, but wouldn’t be caught dead queuing for someone like Sharon. What kind of people queue up for Sharon? “I’m surprised they can read,” sniffs Christine. Greg and Christine prefer historians, scientists, anyone with a brain.

“David Starkey at English Heritage. Very good,” says Greg who, his mother tells me, has read around 2,000 books.

“Then there was Simon Schama in Guildford,” says Christine.

“Not in Guildford, that was in Oxford,” counters Greg. “It was Adam Hart-Davis and Richard Holmes in Guildford. British Book Festival.”

Christine interrupts: “We did go to see Alan Titchmarsh, but that was for me.”

Greg again: “Ian Rankin was good on Rebus in Chelmsford . . . Morgan Spurlock! He was brilliant. I’ll tell you who else, David Attenborough. Brilliant! I went to see him when he’d just done Life of Mammals.”

Christine: “Yes.”

Greg continues: “We saw Gene Wilder and that was the day after Anne Bancroft died so he must have been upset — they were great friends. He’s got this reputation of being a bit prickly, but he was as good as gold.” The question is not so much are Greg and Christine so strange to be queueing up to meet their heroes— but rather, is speaking to them really that much less interesting than talking to Simon or David or Sharon or Paul?

THE SLOW, THE FAST, THE FUSSY

Hillary Clinton holds the record for the most books signed in an hour. The Senator for New York signed 500 copies of Living History in an hour (without looking up). Bill Clinton, by contrast, bonded with the 1,600-strong crowd while signing 400 autobiographies in two hours. Sting got through 300 copies of his memoirs, Broken Music, in an hour.

Slowest signers include the children’s author Jacqueline Wilson (six hours to sign 400 copies of Love Lessons), and Sharon Osbourne (three hours to sign 300 copies of Extreme). Paul McCartney pulled the biggest crowd — 3,000 people turned up hoping to meet the former Beatle in 2000 — while David Beckham drew 700 hopefuls.

Some authors indulge in diva-esque behaviour. The former New York Mayor Rudolph Giuliani demanded a pot of yoghurt, while the actress Carrie Fisher wanted chocolate cake. Paul McCartney operates a no-kissing policy; Rik Mayall, by contrast, kisses all his female autograph-hunters. The cookery writer Nigel Slater refuses to sign books publicly on the ground of acute shyness, and J. K . Rowling no longer does signings for fear of being mobbed. Martine McCutcheon fans were crushed when the former EastEnders actress stopped signing copies of her autobiography half an hour early. The title? Who Does She Think She Is?

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