Andy Richardson: Big performers giving us a reality check

"Roy, meet Andy."

"Nice to meet you."

"Andy, meet Roy."

"Nice to meet you too."

Roy was fragrant and clean. He looked as though he'd just popped out of the shower. His hair was silvery white and he was casually dressed. There was no ridiculous flying cap nor a suit made from sewn-together patches of mismatched fabric.

Roy was anything but a clown. Defying his stereotype, the man who loves to swear was a gently-spoken fella with a penchant for personal hygiene.

Roy had called backstage to say 'hi' to an actor friend, who I happened to be with. That's what performers do. They're a band of brothers, gypsies on the road, visiting one another's shows, hanging out, chewing the fat for 30 minutes then enjoying the gig.

Roy was with his wife. She was pretty and elegantly dressed. Being clean and smelling like a garden of blooming lilies is obviously a thing in the Chubby Brown household. And they do it so well.

Roy hung out for half an hour. Profanity was conspicuous by its absence. There were no tourettes-like outbursts of four-letter words beginning with harsh consonants. He wasn't in the least bit foul-mouthed. He didn't denigrate ladies or pick on minorities. He was just a regular guy telling funny stories and talking about football: Middlesbrough and Paul Gascoigne, mostly. He seemed a little shy; the sort of man who over-compensates by being very, very loud. We all know the type. Oh yes, and he was scrupulously clean and polite. But you already knew that, didn't you?

Public perception and reality can be distant bedfellows.

The Shropshire-based actor John Challis, better known as Boycie, on Only Fools And Horses, portrays dodgy or villainous characters when he takes to the stage. Put him in front of a camera and his eyebrows arc down towards his nose as he convincingly portrays nefarious types. He once beat people up on The Sweeney and waved a Kalashnikov on Dr Who. Yet away from the stage, he's anything but tricky. Rather than selling second hand motors, he spends his spare hours immersed in history or tending an impressive garden.

The Stone Roses guitarist John Squire, who is soon to play Sydney Opera House, Wembley Stadium and Hampden Park, among other venues, is an axe-wielding rock god with licks like fire and an unerring sense of mystery. Yet, in conversation, he's as quiet as a church mouse; the equal/opposite of what you might imagine.

Paul Weller is depicted as a snarling old groover with a chip on his shoulder and a reputation for putting the diffi-into-cult. On the two occasions that we've broken bread, he's been a working class hero personified, making cups of tea, signing autographs and giving far more time than was necessary. Total geezer, in short.

The list of those whose public image bears little resemblance to reality goes on. Prince was imagined to be a right old fruit. The press portrayed him as a sexed-up, drugged-up, Loony Tunes oddball whose grasp of reality was as slippery as a Vaselined python. Curiously, he was a charmer. Poilte, quiet, deferential and self-assured, he wilfully created an air of madness so people couldn't see the real him. That way, he could escape the craziness of his public life and do normal stuff while people weren't looking.

My favourite is Kevin Spacey, a veteran of the theatre. One of the world's elite performers, he turns on the style in a manner redolent of Hollywood's Golden Age. Yet off stage, he's rambunctious and wild. The life and soul of the party, he shoots swear words like. . . well, like Chubby Brown when Chubby's on stage.

The triple Oscar-winning Daniel Day Lewis is tender and intense, empathetic and kind; David Walliams is sweet and naturally funny and Status Quo's seemingly grey, dull and monomatic Francis Rossi is one of the funniest men in rock. Who'd have thought it?

There are others. Johnny Rotten, the man who wrote Anarchy In The Sun, God Save The Queen and became the face of punk, is an intelligent, free-spirited environmentalist who's never happier than when he's talking marine biology.

Closer to home, Miles Hunt, tyro frontman with Stourbridge's The Wonder Stuff, had an unenviable reputation for being, in his own words, an outright gobshite. He once baited fans, gave journalists the finger and careered through life like a first class graduate from the Liam Gallagher Charm School. And yet give him the time to speak and he's polite, witty, intelligent and deeply creative.

But maybe it's no surprise that performers are frequently more than the sum of their parts. Ninety percent of life is etiolated. We couldn't survive in a world that was constantly amazing.

Performers reveal themselves to the public in that remaining 10 per cent. But, perhaps without realising it, it's in the quiet times – in the dull and unremarkable 90 per cent – that they're most interesting.