The Sun ran a story this week about a man police want a chat with in connection with some burglaries. Apparently, many people have pointed out on social media that the gentleman in question bears a resemblance to me. I feel a bit sorry for him. I suspect it is inconvenient enough being a wanted man without being widely judged to look like me. At least the chap caught on CCTV last year in Blackpool robbing some booze looked like a proper A-lister, David Schwimmer. This particular master criminal must be very hurt indeed to look only like little old me.
People often seem to see me in others; it can be quite dispiriting for all concerned. Classically, I’ll be outside a football ground or in some other crowded place. Someone will approach me and say they have a mate who looks “the image” of me. At which point, either a photograph will be produced or, more than once, the doppelganger himself will be fetched and come shambling into view. It is always the same: he will be, in my eyes, much heavier than me, with an even chubbier face, and generally more unattractive. And, what’s worse, I’ll look into his eyes and understand that he is thinking exactly the same about me. We will be photographed together and walk away, never to see each other again, united in disappointment.
And then there is the Ray Mears problem. As with my larcenous lookalike, I’m often mistaken for him. “Oh,” someone will say. “I love your programmes.”
“Why thank you,” I reply.
Then they say something about eating bugs or bark or bears or whatever, and my heart sinks. Many times I’ve even signed myself Ray Mears; I didn’t want to disappoint. I once asked the man himself if he was ever mistaken for me, and asked about West Brom or something.
“No,” he said, sounding relieved.
• Adrian Chiles is a writer, broadcaster and Guardian columnist
