I don't know anyone famous. At all. I feel so provincial. I feel so left out. No-one I know has one iota of celebrity. They've never hit the social pages on a big night out, or walked up the red carpet on premiere night. No-one I know appears regularly on Master chef or wrote a blockbuster.
No-one I know has ever been on Big Brother. But I feel quite relieved about that one, actually.
But would just one celebrity friend be too much to ask so that I could live vicariously through them?
My cousin is famous in the world of sailing... at least I think he is, since I can google him and get newspaper reports that even use his nickname! I am not sure that famous in your field counts as celebrity, although if his team win the America's cup, then he just might be since that's a cross over point between sport and social acclaim.
I've know OF people before they were famous. I liked vegemite reggae before they were big. Huh? What do you mean you've never heard of them? Well never mind then.
On the other hand, I wouldn't ordinarily know a famous person if they fell over naked in front of me on the street. Apparently I've walked past countless celebs only to have someone say "Did you see who we just passed?" and I have to say "wha?"
We (Mr Boxer Shorts and I) once had lunch in a small pub in a small street in a tiny teeny weeny part of central London which was owned by someone famous. He was sitting a few tables away from us having lunch in his own pub. Mr Boxer Shorts pointed him out to me, impatient at my complete failure to have recognised Bernie Eccelstone. How the crap am I supposed to know what Bernie Ecclestone looks like?
Mr Boxer Shorts should have known better, after ten years he knows that I can't pick an actor when we're watching movies. Conversations will go like this:
"That's whatsisname, isn't it?"
"Which whatsisname do you mean, dear?"
"Adam thingy?"
"Do you mean Jeff Daniels?"
"Yes! That's him. That who I was thinking of."
"It would be, if it wasn't Bill Pullman."
"I knew that."
My closest brush to fame was a very quick howdy do to Mark Lamarr of Shooting stars fame. Perhaps Shooting Stars wasn't fulfilling his emotional needs, or maybe they pay in shells and sparkly things, but I met him at a work function where he was the comedy compare who jolly'd the evening along with laconic one liners.
When the official corporate evening do was over, a casino night began, and as we all crowded into the outer bar, I saw Mark and his agent conversing, whereupon the agent said "I'll just sort that out and be back in a minute". And off he went, leaving Mark standing alone.
Now who wants to be alone at a party? Twiddling your thumbs and pretending that any minute now someone you're waiting for will be back to rejoin your scintillating conversation. Never one to leave a damson in distress, I sauntered over and struck up a conversation.
How do you do this with a person that you don't know, but know a bit about, but who knows nothing about you and perhaps would prefer it that way? I did my best. In fact I was quite poised and nonchalant,. I remarked that I was a fan of his tv show shooting stars, and I really enjoyed his comedy tonight, and did he do this sort of thing often?
The conversation went quite smoothly, until one of my immediate work superiors glided by doing a mangled combination of Michael Jackson's moonwalk and the Bangles' egyptian and shouted "I'm telling Mr Boxer Shorts on youooooooooo!" I really don't know how me managed to get the roller skate effect, but he did.
At which point I think I turned cerise, and said "Anyhoo. Hmmm, I think that's me done now. Do have a nice night. Bye!" and ran to the ladies room via the bar.
So the second famous person I've met was Bill Bryson, who's book "notes from a small island" I first read while sitting commuting on the tube from east london to south west london in my first year in london. His book was responsible for large amounts of snot snorting as I attempted to not laugh out loud in public and failed.
We were in San Francisco for a few days after visiting an american company I did work for, and Mr Boxer Shorts had found out that Bill was signing books in a local bookshop. So along we went, first to listen to a talk about the book from the man himself, then to join a queue to buy and be signed. I had placed myself badly with no forethought when I'd sat down to listen. I ended up at the back of the queue, and the time to depart for the airport was becoming increasingly nigh.
But Mr Boxer Shorts was a wise man. Since he was not in the queue, he and Miss Trouble Pants placed themselves near the signing table, whereupon after only a short while of listening to her "super cuteness", a very american woman (and by VERY, I mean that she had the kind of accent we love to rip off) drawled was "MOmmy in the queue". "Well bring her down here" she replied on the affirmative, and thus I queue jumped all those silly Yankees. Mr Boxer Shorts, Bill Bryson and I then proceeded to have a fairly long conversation, as my inlaws hail from North Yorkshire, not so far away from where Bill has spent a lot of time. And quite possibly the only brits (sic) there so the welcome cadence of our lyrical accents must have enthralled and delighted him.
I say Brit, of course I am not. Interestingly, after meeting me, a lone Australian in Yankee towers, Bill went on to write "In a Sunburnt Country". I expect that I was his muse - I think I inspired him to write it. (I also think that I can sing, and it doesn't make it so...)
BUT either way, I decided that not only do I like Bill Bryson's books, but I liked him a lot too. Which is nice, but not essential in my opinion.
I try not to form opinions about actors or novelists personal appeal. I want to to enjoy the fruits of their labour, I don't actually want to sit down in a pub and talk to them. I can't stand people who refuse to see a movie because they hate a certain actor who is in it.
"I won't see that because [insert name who won't sue me for libel here] is a complete and utter dickwad."
How do you actually know what someone you've never met is like? Oh right... the MEDIA told you. Yes, what a reliable source! Fancy that. We don't ALL believe that everything we read is true, do we?
As a society we seem to have far too much interest in what a "celebrity" is doing when they are not doing what makes them a celebrity. Or perhaps more alarming - we seem to consider that some people are celebrities purely for their mundane daily activities rather than any achievements that they may or may not have.
Too many magazines seem to be revolve around the murky interest level of which celebrity has cellulite and which celebrity has a new phone, and who she/he texted. The media tells us that these snippets of information are important to our own well being.
Do we really trust that the media has our own best interests at heart when they broadcast every single thought that Katie Price has? Actually, since I feel that thoughts from that woman are probably few and far between I should amend that statement to "every single word katie price utters". What a classic case of mouth in gear, brain in neutral.
Whoops, but here is hypocrisy in action! I am decrying that anyone else should form an opinion of another person because of the media, and yet in the same breath I disparage someone I've never met. The difference here is that the media isn't reporting on what she did, she is TELLING us directly. Can someone please make her stop? With all her dirty washing aired in public, there isn't much left to find out as it is. I wish someone would tell her that we don't care what Katie did next.
Maybe she needs some non celebrity friends to give her a more balanced perspective on life? Sorry Katie, I changed my mind about wanting a celebrity friend!
