Fame, I want to live forever.

May 23rd

Wandering through London in the morning after my radio show when I see a bloke I vaguely recognise. I nod and say hello, he looks at me with a strange sadness in his eyes and said "ello" back. There was no recognition on his face. Perhaps he thinks I'm a nutter, he clearly had no idea who I was. There's no conversation here so I press on with a smile. I can't place him at all, I look back at him and try to work out how I know him and who he is.

Maybe I don't know him. Oh damn, I've turned into London's equivalent that mad woman who walks round Sheffield town centre in a nightie and slippers saying hello to everyone. No - hang on I do know him, he was in Big Brother. I can't remember his name. I can't remember which series he was in. Or even if I liked/disliked him. But that's how I recognise him... which one is he?

I've written here in the past about the mercurial nature of fame in relation to the Big Brother TV show. It's ironic that the final series is to start soon. I will of course be watching it.



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