I am easily starstruck
Unfortunately, I lose my well-practiced veneer of the studied urbanite when I’m anywhere near celebrity. Any celebrity: big or small; A-List, B-List, C-List or X-List; politician; sports figure; star of the silver screen or boob tube floozy.
The OH (“Other Half”) would tell you that I’m downright uncouth in the presence of greatness such as Sandy from Big Brother, Series 3.
2002.
On this particular brush with greatness, The OH and I are treating my father to a pizza at the Pizza Express on St. Christopher’s Place. I know, I know: Pizza Express isn’t exemplary London dining. But, my Dad is over from America. What’s he know? He’s lucky that the OH and I are willing to be seen with him and his white socks and trainers and money-pouch hung around his neck in public. And his luck doesn’t stop there: an outing in London and a celebrity siting!
I’m suffering all the symptoms of Celebretititus. My eyes bulge, my neck cranes, I chew on my lower lip. I stammer, ‘Dddaaad. Tha tha that guy over there … ‘ my nod in the direction of Sandy is not as subtle as I would like. ‘He’s been on TV.’
Dad twists around in his seat to get a good look, turns around, with a shrug grunts ‘Never seen ‘em before.” then returns to his pizza.
The OH, having been born and bred in NYC is a true urbanite. He shakes his head in humiliation.
I’m certain Dad will be suitably impressed if I fill him in on the level of fame to which Sandy has reached.
‘See, Dad, he was on Big Brother. He used to wade around the swimming pool for exercise every morning; he couldn’t take it any more so he escaped the house by climbing up the roof.’
Dad looks at me like I wasted his hard earned money on my university education. He just keeps chewing on a slice of his 2nd rate pizza.
A brush with Sandy is but a small test. These days, my aspirations to stay cool in the presence of fame are being sorely tested. Right Said Fred live in my neighbourhood!
