These days anyone with a small but heroic part in a bestselling book would try to parlay it into a daytime TV show or book deal. Not André Suard, hairdresser to Cherie and all the Blairs. “The limelight is not my scene,” he says and refuses to be photographed.

The stylist who has crimped Cherie all over the world, been insulted by Alastair Campbell and famously changed Leo's nappy so that he could be presented to Bill Clinton, does not envy his high-profile clients. He has not even read Cherie's book: “I'm not a big reader, I can't recall the last book I read. I just work.”

Indeed, beside his workstation in Michaeljohn's Mayfair salon is a huge digital clock. “I am never late,” he says. “The kind of women I deal with - barristers, lawyers, managing directors, politicians - have only a tiny slot in which to look after themselves. I can never keep them waiting.”

André, 40, a slightly tubby Parisian who lives in Peckham and whose accent is thus an engaging mix of French and Sarf London, views my scruffy mop with disdain. “Do you do your colour yourself?” Er, no. “It's very dry, innit?” He advises me to take iron and zinc, then gets to work cutting out layers and giving me a parting.

It is easy to see why he became Cherie's confidante. André, 40, is unfailingly calm, takes appointments back to back from 7am to 7.30pm, and utterly loves his job. “It is like meeting a new friend every half hour. You are making people happy all day long. It is very rewarding. They tell you everything, of course, because they are women. But you keep your mouth shut.”

He has seen at first hand that fame is a burden. “I would not want to lead my clients' lives. I love my own.” He is happy to disappear back to the Old Kent Road to his partner and his beloved shih tzu dog, Crombie, which often accompanies him on home visits. The only famous person about whom he is remotely star-struck is Bill Clinton. “He's the greatest person I have ever met. There's something about him. He remembers your name years after you last saw him. He's amazing.”

Did he mind acting as Cherie's nanny when Leo was small? “No, I have 13 nieces and nephews. I know how to change a nappy. I'm not a prima donna, I'm not like Nicky Clarke. I hate sitting still on a chair. If a client needs something I will help out.”

But what of his encounter with Alastair Campbell, when André tried to defend Cherie from his tirade after the Peter Foster flats debacle? Campbell screamed at André: “You mind your own business. Remember you're just a f***ing hairdresser.”

André shrugs at the memory. “It's Alastair, innit? He doesn't choose his words. Normally I keep my mouth shut, but I hate seeing people bullied. I would do the same for a junior in the salon. At the end of the day, I am just a f***ing hairdresser and I don't pretend to be otherwise.”

I am too beguiled by André's charm to see that my hair has been transformed into a newsreader helmet. I have power hair. Hair to storm a boardroom or address the UN. Hair that sells memoirs.

Times recommends

• Gardasil: a cancer jab I don’t regret
• How to haggle for your holiday
• Lesbian chic