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There's nothing camp about George and Kenny whatsoever. " "June the 25th," he says "And we're both Cancerian and both born in the same year, 1963." "So you're 43 as well? She comes across as a big influence, almost like a mentor of sorts.

Even though it was his boyfriend, Kenny, who lit George's fire, I still mentally associated George with millions of screaming female fans.

Years later, I bumped into George and Kenny at Heathrow airport, as we all rolled off a BA flight from Berlin.

I went out of the flat into the hall and knelt down at the letterbox to be eye level with the guy's crotch.

He bent down to the letterbox and said: "Please, please let me in.

He even told me his name, but it made no difference to me. He spoke with the most amazing, jaw-dropping, sexy Texas twang.

"Sorry to interrupt," he said, "but you're Tracey, and my boyfriend is a big fan of your work and he'd love to say hello." I was already enchanted and said: "Bring him over." But to my absolute amazement, the person sitting next to me on the banquette just smiled and said: "Hi, I'm George." I remember we had a really great chat, mainly about Cyprus.

We shared a spirit of camaraderie as we waited for Kenny to clear immigration.

And then the pair of them swiftly disappeared through a secret door, special services.

You gotta let me in." I told him I was really sorry. The more I said I really couldn't let him in, the more desperate he became.

He was so nice, I felt really sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do. All it said was: "I hear that you left George Michael on the doorstep yesterday." *** The next time I came across George (or George came across me) was in very different circumstances. I was sitting in The Ivy with the gallery director Carl Freedman (and, I have got to admit, very, very drunk) when from the table next to us a very smiley, handsome man wriggled his way across the chairs so he was facing me.

I was very happy making the painting and I was very careful not to make a mess.