**Looking for the Guy from the Ozzy Signing at HMV – Are You in This Group?
I know this is a total long shot, but it’s been sitting in the back of my mind for *years*, and recently it’s moved front and center. Maybe it’s the nostalgia kicking in as time rolls on, or maybe it’s just the feeling that some people cross your path for a reason, even if only briefly. Either way, I figured it’s finally time to put this out there and hope that someone, somewhere, might remember—or better yet, maybe you’ll see this yourself.
It all started over a decade ago—HMV on Oxford Street, the day Ozzy Osbourne did that epic in-store signing. The energy that day was electric, a buzz only fellow metalheads and diehard fans would understand. You could feel the anticipation in the air; everyone in line was excited, edgy, and full of stories about how long they’d been following Ozzy’s career. People had tattoos, vintage tees, rare vinyls tucked under their arms. Some were nervous, others just giddy with excitement. And in the middle of all that, there was *you*.
I remember you because you had this raw energy—totally unfiltered, totally real. You were about to do something mad—get Ozzy to sign your back. Not a shirt. Not a CD. Not a poster. Your *actual* back. You had already cleared it with the security guy and had your top ready to come off the moment you were up front. I ended up behind you in the queue, and we struck up a conversation—just casual at first, talking about Sabbath albums, gigs we’d been to, stuff like that. But I remember thinking you were different—easy to talk to, funny, sharp, and just a little bit chaotic in the best way.
When your turn came, I offered to take the photos for you. You handed me your old digital camera—remember those? No filters, no cloud backup, just whatever it could capture in that moment. You were grinning like a kid on Christmas as you leaned over the table. Ozzy gave you a quick look like, “You sure?” and then just went for it with that black Sharpie, signing your back with the kind of flair only he could pull off. You winced a bit from the pressure, laughed, and thanked him like he’d just given you a piece of your soul back. I snapped as many photos as I could—some turned out blurry, but most of them caught the moment perfectly.
Afterward, we left the store together, buzzing. You were shirtless and proud, your skin still marked with fresh Sharpie lines. We ended up at Boots not far from the store, because you wanted to get the photos printed straight away. That’s what we did back then—no Instagram, no airdrop, no online albums. Just tiny glossy prints from a kiosk machine, warm to the touch and kind of magical in how immediate they felt. You gave me a couple of quid to print extras, and we sat outside flipping through them. I remember you laughing, pointing at one photo where Ozzy looked like he was about to autograph your spine.
We talked for a bit more. About music, about life. You told me you were thinking about turning the autograph into a tattoo, to make it permanent. I told you I thought it was brilliant. And then, like all things back then, the moment passed. You said you were off to meet some friends, I was heading the other way. We didn’t swap numbers. No Facebook, no Insta, no way to keep in touch. It didn’t feel urgent at the time. Just one of those fleeting, golden interactions you don’t realize is rare until it’s long gone.
But I’ve thought about that day a lot over the years.
Sometimes it comes back when I hear a certain song—“Crazy Train,” maybe, or “No More Tears.” Sometimes it’s just a flash of a memory when I walk past that old HMV location, or see someone walk past with an Ozzy shirt or a signed record. I always wonder what happened to you. Did you get that signature tattooed? Did you keep those printed photos? Do you still talk about that day? Or was it just one wild afternoon in a long list of many?
More than that, I wonder about *you*. Who you became. What life turned into for you. Were you already living in London? Were you just visiting? Did you keep going to shows, chasing that same thrill? You might not even remember me—and that’s okay—but I haven’t forgotten you. You were kind, hilarious, and left an impression that’s lasted over a decade. That’s not nothing.
So I guess this is me throwing it out into the digital void. Maybe someone reading this remembers that day. Maybe someone knows a guy who got Ozzy to sign his back at HMV and printed the photos right after. Maybe you’re even reading this now, thinking, “No way…”
If that *is* you—if any of this sounds familiar—please reach out. Comment, message me, anything. I’ve got those photos still. I kept them all this time. They’ve moved with me from flat to flat, tucked into the back of a shoebox full of old gig stubs, Polaroids, and ticket wristbands. Every time I’ve opened that box, I’ve seen your face grinning back at me, Sharpie signature still fresh in the frame.
I don’t know what I expect to come of this. Maybe nothing. But something about this just feels like it deserves a second chance—if only to say hi, catch up, and maybe fill in the blanks of a story that’s been lingering in the background for far too long.
So yeah… if you’re out there, and this rings any bells, let’s finally connect.
\—The person who took the photos of your Ozzy-signed back and never forgot it.
