I’m not sure what level of celebrity I’m currently at. Last time I checked, I was C-list with splashes of B and a few blobs of F (but only when there’s an “R” in the month). I thought I was A-list once, but turns out I’d mixed myself up with Tilda Swinton.

But wherever I am in the big alphabetti spaghetti of fame, there’s a couple of rules I think all celebs should follow. One, check your trousers are zipped up before you go on telly. Two, don’t speak publicly on topics you’ve no business talking about. As the late Denis Thatcher said, “whales only get shot when they spout”. Above all, don’t start telling people which way they should vote.

There are, however, some big names who don’t see any limit on what they can tell the public to do. No idea can travel through their gorgeous heads without them passing it on to everyone they see. It’s great to know their views on art or music and it’s genuinely admirable when they inform us about charitable causes or social issues. But when they start to lecture people on how to cast their ballots, it just goes wrong.

That’s never been more apparent than during the US election, where the Democrats managed to gather an eye-popping display of celebrity endorsements. Vice-President Harris had the lot, the very fanciest stable of AAA listers, all banging their glossy drums for her campaign. I felt like every time she held a rally, Hollywood must’ve sat as empty as the Mary Celeste. You’d flick on the television and see Beyoncé and Lady Gaga and Oprah (and the rest) all demanding ordinary citizens tick their boxes for Harris, and, well, we’ve seen how that turned out.

About a month ago, I met a solid gold, triple-plated A-lister at an event in London. He told me he’d been organising loads of glamorous actors to turn out for Kamala. I couldn’t quite understand how this guy didn’t see that it would backfire. Despite all the creative genius these stars might have, all their real talent and insights into human nature, they oddly don’t grasp that on TV, their messages appear as a bunch of insanely privileged squillionaires loftily notifying the masses what to do.

I guess the problem is that immense fame begins to make you a little peculiar. Even my life, which is only a bit glittery around the edges, occasionally turns me into a mix of Norma Desmond and Kim Jong Un. When a handful of hangers-on are always saying how special and clever you are, it’s not easy to resist. When it’s arenas chanting your name, it must be almost impossible. You start to believe your opinions really matter.

I’m sure they felt their motives were noble and they really wanted to stop Trump, but they just seemed like a group of flouncing aristocrats peering down from gilded carriages and telling the benighted villagers what to do. It’s no surprise that voters said, “no thanks”.

Now and then, I have been asked if I fancied saying something nice about one party or another. My answer is always a gentle no. That’s not my job. There’s some discrete issues – the plight of the unhoused or the rise of anti-Jewish racism – where I feel compelled to use my voice. If I’m on a news programme, I’ll challenge politicians from every party. But that’s it. I don’t confuse the privilege of my platform with a pulpit from which I can tell people how to vote.

The best guidance came from Ricky Gervais in a cracking monologue at the 2020 Golden Globes. “If you do win”, he told the shiny nominees, “don’t use it as a platform to make a political speech. You’re in no position to lecture the public about anything. You know nothing about the real world.” What they should do instead, he explained, is “thank your agent and your God and f*** off.”

It was robust but not wrong.

All I can hope is that, seeing how badly it went, we might – finally – have seen the end of all these gushing celebrocrat endorsements. It’s time for megastars to get back to their day jobs: bringing joy rather than giving orders.