Arriving home after another long day at the coalface, you treat yourself with a little me-time by lying on the sofa and aimlessly scrawling through your phone which, inevitably, means Facebook. The routine has become tired, dull and mundane as you cast your eye over the beautiful people, adverse to differing opinion and snowflakey to any pin prick challenge that may burst their carefully cultured image of plastic utopia. Desperate for change, I find myself becoming increasingly excited by the eccentric, the self-effacing and the obscure. It was therefore refreshing recently to stumble upon a Facebook group that ticked all of those boxes - ‘Lame to fame’.

No doubt we can all recount brushes with the famous and the infamous: As a teenager, four of us were chosen to go the school hall and speak to an old guy who popped in for a chat. We sat in a circle as the unshaven, sad-behind-the-eyes man, regaled us with tall tales, jokes, impressions and rhymes before hugging us 90 minutes later and going on his way. There was nothing sinister about the encounter, it was just a bored fella chewing the cud, and relieving boredom, whilst keeping in touch with the youth of the day. Upon returning home I told my Dad about the encounter. He who asked who he was? “Haven’t a clue, just some old local boy called Spike Milligan…”

Lame to Fame sneers in the face of such impressive encounters and the links are tenuous to the point of being laughable. Currently a group member is boasting as to how Chesney Hawkes once asked his wife out and she declined, instead choosing him as her one and only. Les Battersby walked past a chip shop in Colwyn Bay and got annoyed when he was addressed as ‘Les’. A friend’s dad used to deliver post to Benny from Crossroads. I find these encounters more endearing than the usual one upmanship that permeates.

Even more impressive was my joining Costco in Watford. I am reliably informed that I was walking in the footsteps of a comedy giant, as the person who joined one before me was none other than rubber faced funny man Lee Evans.

Now we all know people who have a tenuous link, nay, a desperation to be associated with fame. I have a family member who, no matter which celebrity is mentioned in conversation, once had a flatmate who dated a one-hit wonder, or has a friends, friends’ cousin twice removed who slapped a TOWIE cast member outside their local Home Bargains. I am moving away from such claims and believe with this group I have found kindred spirits: That selfie I took last year outside the Merthyr Travelodge with bearded darts supremo Martin ‘Wolfie’ Adams has finally found a home. I plan to really look out for the most mundane lame to fame that I can and will only give up once I give Les Dennis a jump start on the A1M or pass John Fashanu the ketchup in a backstreet café in Coventry. Forget being impressed with fame, the playing field has now been levelled and the lamest is finally coming through to win the race for cyber affection.