The day I was caught short with Tom Cruise

RUSSELL BAILLIE once met Tom Cruise and came away relieved.

To say that I've met Tom Cruise isn't quite right. I can, however, claim to have shared something which not many - not even the good folk of Taranaki who seem to be wetting themselves at having the movie god in their midst - have.

A urinal.

Yes, the world's No 1 film star once did number ones right next to me. I was doing the same. We bonded, fleetingly.

Yes, I'm sure it was him. It was straight after a Sydney press conference for Far and Away - the movie which he made with the then-Mrs Cruise, Nicole Kidman, about a couple of Irish runaways to 19th-century America which might have made a good musical in the 1930s.

Instead it was destined to become a mediocre 1990s drama destined to be repeated on telly every St Patrick's Day.

Having flown across for the occasion, I had bathed in the glory of the dentistry of the Cruise-Kidmans and director Ron Howard at the conference held, with thematic cunning, in an Irish pub in Oxford St, Paddington.

But I had the flu. Which was my excuse for not asking any questions like: "Would it not have been better as a musical 60 years ago?"

Wisely, I had kept up my fluid intake to stop the rattle of various anti-flu pills drowning out the scintillating answers from the stars to the searching questions from the assembled Aussie media. Most of the interrogators couldn't give two hoots about the film and wanted to know of the then-happy couple if it was love at first sight?

Or: Tom, do you really, really, really like Australia? And you, the other fella, weren't you the guy in Happy Days?

Having valiantly maintained consciousness - but undoubtedly failed to look the least bit interested - throughout the session, at its end a quick dash to the gents was required.

No sooner had I begun than the door swung open heavily. There stood a stocky man of very wide shoulders but very little neck surveying the bathroom, and disconcertingly, my ablutions. He was wearing a black suit. He was security. I was, in his squinty bouncer's eyes, a problem. But there's just no rushing some people.

And so, enter the Cruise. He said "Hi" with that famous smile and began. I said "Hi" and continued. And there we stood, man to man, shoulder to shoulder, staring at the wall, as is the international tradition of blokes in pub toilets. Only this one came with a bodyguard who was making sure I made no sudden movements which was, frankly, highly unsettling, especially towards the end.

From memory, the conversation went something like this: "How's it going," said he. "Fine, thanks," said I. "You finished for the day?" asked I. "No, got some more to do," sighed he. "Oh," said I. If I'd thought of it, I might have said "I thought Jerry Maguire was terrific" but alas, it hadn't been made yet.

In that brief exchange was irrefutable proof that beneath it all, Tom Cruise is a friendly, ordinary sort of guy with normal bodily functions who likes nothing better than a good conversation with a complete stranger, even one who looks a bit poorly. Celebrities, eh? Just like you and me, deep down.

He's short, though. Yes, he's rich, handsome, charismatic, smart, and powerful. But he's only up to here on me and I see eye to eye with most of the hobbits. Imagine if he'd got here a few years ago: Tom Cruise is Frodo.

As for anything else that you'd think one might notice from such an encounter ... hey, don't be crass. You just don't, okay? I may be desperate enough to think this fleeting encounter is worth recounting, but I have my standards.

So, if you're down New Plymouth way and a tough-looking man wearing an earplug bursts through the door of the Gents and stares at you, don't take it personally. And do say hi from me. Probably best to save asking for an autograph until later, though.