{18/09/2012}   If I had been a paparazzi-fodder celebrity yesterday

I have absolutely no interest in being a celebrity and it is supremely unlikely I will ever be one; it would be hell, largely because of the paparazzi and supposed public interest in my daily activities.  Thinking about my activities yesterday (nothing out of the ordinary and certainly no boobs on display), I wondered what it would have been like to have done those things knowing that I was being watched and photographed and that at some point the most “interesting” or risqué photos would have been published with some kind of tag line.

I have long suspected, due in part to mild hay fever, that I am a nose fiddler – “picker” is more visual and gross than I care to associate myself with – so there were probably plenty of finger-up-nostril moments.  I would not have enjoyed seeing these splashed across the weeklies.

There was a near incident with a duvet that I had drying on my balcony, namely that it almost blew away so I had to make a perilous lean.  I suspect there was some cleavage on display, though I reiterate no boobs on display (I do feel very sorry for Kate Middleton).  I suspect that could have attracted some interest, though surely scraping the barrel.

It may have seemed odd that I moved my car a bit for seemingly no reason.  The exciting truth was that I wanted to move my car from being under a notorious seagull and pigeon toilet perch as I have recently had it cleaned.  It may also have been noticed that I retrieved a bottle of wine from the boot (good job it wasn’t the day before, when I retrieved three large bags of wine from the boot!).  That, coupled with a mistaken belief that my hair could go three days without washing, could easily have led to rumours of my hitting the bottle, which would have been untrue I hasten to add.

I petted a neighbour’s small dog at the top of the flight of steps up to the house in which my flat is located, which suggests I could have given pappers an unrestricted view of my bottom from a most unflattering angle.

I walked to the train station with – scandal – a man.  I later sat on a bench where a (very odd) man circled my bench on his bicycle.  It could have been manipulated to look like an illicit tryst or some such.

I put a bin bag into the wheelie bin.  Some prying creep could easily have had a rummage in that for gossip fodder.  They would have largely found blue mussels (long story but they were retrieved from a toilet full of blue colouring, a Bloo toilet flush), sachets of cat food and remnants of French food packaging.  I could have been labelled a binge eater (hmm, not as far off the truth in this case than it would normally be!).

I went out briefly later on to post some letters, I’m sure the subject of them could have been scandalised/incorrectly guessed.

I really did do very little that was outside or near a window viewable from the road.  However, just writing this makes me see to a certain extent how easy it could be to make my life a figment of other people’s imagination and unrecognisable to me as my daily life.  It must be so hard to maintain normality if you’re hounded by the press and you must always be aware of what you’re doing, what you’re wearing and even what you’re throwing out.  It actually makes me feel repulsed to think about it and sad that so many young people aspire to be celebrities.


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