Before the white smoke is puffed out of the Vatican chimneys signalling that the cardinals have picked a new pope, I want to write my own personal tribute to the last one. This is not a tribute in the ordinary sense. I don’t want to speak of what the pope did or did not achieve but rather about a pope who accompanied me from childhood into adulthood; a pope who despite holding opinions I did not accept, was a person I admired for his vocation, passion and commitment, the pope as a real people’s person, and in many ways a bit of a star.

The first time I saw John Paul II was in Strasbourg in 1988. Being a hormone-ridden teenager I was largely oblivious to the real significance of the event and don’t remember much about it, apart from the fact that it made me feel as one does when going to a huge rock concert: full of anticipation. In a huge and fully booked-out stadium we, the crowd, spent most of our time chanting, screaming and doing the Mexican wave. At one point one of the organisers of our group told us to be quiet because the pope was saying something important about abortion and contraception. Needless to say it went straight over our pope-scarf-bearing heads.

Seventeen years on I am in Rome. I moved here in October of the Jubilee year and the celebrations, although slightly toned down, were still going strong. Close to where I lived a church presented an inviting scene: incense and burning candles, soft guitar music being strummed, seats and pillows scattered around and several confessionals buzzing with activity. If a closed confessional intimidated you, you could simply chat with a priest on a chair. For someone who stopped going to Mass as soon as I felt I could break it to my parents, this was an eye-opener: if Church was always like this I might still be going.

A few months later a friend announced she wanted to go and see the pope at one of his weekly audiences at the Vatican. For some reason I had always imagined this would be much harder but, for such a celebrity, he was remarkably accessible. Maybe it was the post-Jubilee slump but we were able to get tickets for a seat (though no personal blessing from the Holy Father) at the audience the next day.

We turned up at 08.00 (the audience started at 10.00). Within a few minutes, and after airport-style security checks, we were allowed into the vast Vatican auditorium. The next couple of hours were reminiscent of the time spent waiting for your favourite rock band to come on stage. The support bands, even if good, are irrelevant. You are waiting for the real thing: in this case the pope. To pass the time people had brought refreshments and games. Some people were writing prayers, others were praying. In my row alone Japanese, Tagalog, English and Spanish were being spoken. There was a general sense of purpose and excitement in the air. Finally, the pope appeared.

Frail and bent, he shuffled slowly along the stage aiding himself with a stick. Halfway to his chair however, something funny happened. The pope turned to the cheering crowd, smiled, and gave us a huge wave. The crowd cheered louder. Over the next hour various priests recited readings from the Bible in five languages and introduced that week’s pilgrim groups from around the world. The Holy Father did his bit too and read (or rather mumbled) blessings in five languages. Every time a group of pilgrims was introduced, it got up and screamed, or sang, or cheered, or simply waved. When this happened the pope looked up and smiled, tiredly.

It was at the end that things really took off. Official blessings over, the newly-weds, people in wheelchairs, or simply the punters wishing to get an offering blessed for a sick relative, lined up in front of the pope (for a personal blessing a request has to be made in advance). I thought he would be tired by now, but instead his face was radiant. Far more so than before. He greeted every person, and there were many of them, with a smile and handshake that at times became an impromptu hug, and he seemed genuinely happy to meet them. The auditorium was buzzing and the pope was loving it. The whole thing reminded me of some footage I saw a few years back of the pope at New York City’s Madison Square Garden in the mid-1980s. He is sitting on stage, the crowd is roaring with appreciation. Suddenly, out of nowhere, the pope starts whooping. The crowd loves it and starts roaring even louder. He smiles and whoops again, this time for longer. The crowd goes insane with pleasure. The pope keeps up the whooping for a good ten minutes. Eventually he stops, grins and says: “Big charisma moment!”

Now tell me that this isn’t a million times better than seeing some ageing rockster smash his guitar on stage. Long live the pope! A star who walked among us