Monica Lewinsky, the most talked about woman in the world, sampled a real Yorkshire tradition on her visit to the region - fish and chips, mushy peas and a pint of bitter.

Say Leeds and you're smiling: Monica shares a joke with Andrew Morton. Picture: Steven Bradshaw

The 25-year-old was taken to Bryan's Fisheries restaurant in Headingley, Leeds, by Yorkshire-born author Andrew Morton after signing copies of her biography for more than 1,000 fans.

She sat among 50 other customers and tucked into haddock, chips, mushy peas.

The restaurant's assistant manager, Michael Hall, said: "She seemed really happy and cheerful and was talking to the other customers."

It was then on to nearby O'Hagans pub in Otley Road, where Miss Lewinsky and Mr Morton enjoyed a pint of Speckled Hen real ale.

Earlier, Miss Lewinsky had chatted to fans as she signed copies of Monica's Story at Waterstones book shop in Leeds city centre.

People queued for up to three hours to get a glimpse of the woman made famous by her antics with the US president Bill Clinton.

Me and Monica... and hundreds of strangers

Ron Godfrey seeks Monica's moniker during a brief encounter

Well, she did it. The most famous woman in the world finally got to meet me. It was a magic moment for Monica Lewinsky as she came into the orbit of my charm and charisma.

So how was it for her? A "warm" experience," she sighed. And how was it for me? Footsore.

I had been through two hours of hell to savour this secret fragment of a moment at Waterstone's Booksellers in Leeds.

Not so secret, you may think, bearing in mind the winding queue of around 600 which snaked through the bookstore and all the way up the stairs, with perhaps 300 more noses of gawpers in the streetpressed up against the window for the great Lewinsky signing of her book, Monica's Story.

But to us, me and Monica that is, this meeting was more than capable of being personal and intense. If she could have had a fling with The Pres while the world watched, think of how much easier it was for me with a mere few hundred guests at Waterstone's looking on.

There was so much I needed to ask her. How did she feel about rumours that Hillary now wants to divorce Bill? Did she still see herself as a pawn in a vicious political struggle?

How did she perceive she would be described when the history books are written in the new Millennium? But first we had to meet face to face. Easier said than done My journey to Monica, along with the eternally patient crowds, started at Children's Fiction - five to eight - and while she paraded before cameras for a Press shoot, I whiled away my time by browsing the teenage fare, Too Hottie to Handle by Randi Reisfeld and, alongside it, Romantically Correct by H B Gilmour.

That photographic session must have over-run on Monica's schedule because we natives were getting restless, particularly my section which behind me consisted of a pin-stripe suited banker for whom the only thing mobile was his phone and an engaged couple from the Leeds tax office who had surreptitiously lifted the lids on a plethora of pop-up books.

So, having secured my place, I left the queue to reconnoitre reasons for the lack of progress, dodging past the peak-capped security men and stern-faced Waterstone's staff, to the foot of the stairs itself, where the front marker looked at me with comatose eyes and shook his head.

But on my way back something happened.

There was a change in people's strides from languid to assertive, crowd knots suddenly eddied like unpredictable whirlpools in water.

She's here. Probably she'll be steered to the back entrance. No, front entrance. Via the lift. Cameras ready. This could be her now. Lift opens. Enter a jowly, jolly matron with puce hair. "Yes, " she giggles. "Don't you recognise me? Monica in disguise! Tee hee..."

But somehow the real Monica was back in place. Upstairs. And she was signing. And the queue, at last began to move. Past Classics, Fantasy and Sci-fi, all the way to Poetry and doubling back past Children's Fiction, in a hairpin bend alongside Hobbies and Handicraft and finally to the foot of those stairs.

Oh tremulous moment!

Then it was all so quick. You're ushered. Told to stop. Wait. Book ready. And there she was, all shiny black hair, lip-gloss and big hazel eyes which fixed on mine and we both knew the secret together.

The secret was that I would ask her none of the questions I'd intended.

Instead, I heard myself say: "Monica, are you going to let us take you away from all that?

"Are you planning to live in Yorkshire and let us look after you?"

And, signing, she sighed: "I don't see why not. I sure have had a warm welcome."

Then Andrew Morton, the author of her book popped up from nowhere and said: "The men are more handsome over here."

Who asked him?

Converted for the new archive on 30 June 2000. Some images and formatting may have been lost in the conversion.