Some reporters run after convoys heading to liberate Tripoli. Me, I run in tight shoes after Bono.
It was one of those frontline situations at the Q Awards. If you're one of the great unwashed of Hoxton, this means you will spend the afternoon ligging at the Grosvenor Hotel.
If, on the other hand, you are a showbiz rat, you'll spend it with your face pressed against someone else's coat on a press line up, squealing, "was that Brian May?" at a departing back.
This year, the all important Qs are twenty five years old. They compiled a shortlist of who they think are the greatest band of the last 25 years. In man rock land, this means people like Coldplay, U2 and Oasis.
The upside - they all turn up. The downside - it's a war to the death to get a soundbite off of them.
There's a pecking order in award ceremony arrivals. The really famous ones arrive last. So we treat the presence of Matt Cardle, Lana Del Ray, Example and Ed Sheeran with a certain nonchalance.
However, there's fear when we brandish our microphones as Tinie Tempah, Kasabian and Brian May turn up. What if we miss them?
And every press muscle strains anxiously, as if constipated, when Coldplay hit the carpet.
In this kind of situation, it's every journo for themselves - and so I found myself nonplussed when I actually saw Chris Martin in front of me.
"Areyouthebestbandintheworldatthemomentthen," I gabble.
He considers this.
"I don't think we are the best band in the world. U2 are. I think we're about seventh."
I think he's pushing it with seventh, but hold my tongue.
"Getting an award is like having an orgasm", he continues, and I have to turn away, revolted, with unwanted thoughts of Gwyneth Paltrow.
My neighbour is having no better luck with Noel Gallagher.
"Have you seen Liam?", she ventures, to be rewarded with a look of utter contempt.
In the middle of this, I am involuntarily yanked backwards as my cameraman shouts "The Edge!"
He's not about to fall, he's just fruitlessly chasing an Irishman in a nylon skullcap, sneaking in through the back door.
"Where's bloody Bono?" I hiss.
I have my answer a few minutes later. He floats past me as I interview Tinie Tempah.
"Better get after him", Tinie says sympathetically.
We scurry to where the snappers are taking U2's picture. One wave - and off they go to lunch, taking my soundbite with them.
"We're the best! " shouts Bono, as I stand defeated.
Achtung baby - an award ceremony actually is war.