Visiting an old friend today: someone I've known for 36 years. (Just worked that out by counting on my fingers! Well, it is 03:52 am.)
Thirty-six years. Good grief!
Anyway, my friend's older brother is a Very Famous Person. Politician. Member of the UK cabinet, and a face most people in the UK would recognise immediately. My friend looks a lot like him.
We rarely talk about his brother - I remember him saying once that being the younger brother of a Very Famous Person can be a bit of a drag - but today I might break that unspoken rule and ask him a few questions, because I've been thinking about fame.
I wonder how it feels to be recognised wherever you go. To see yourself on TV several times a week, to read about yourself in newspapers, to meet members of your own family who know the real you, but are also exposed to the public you.
And how do you cope with the internal conflicts that must exist? The tension between what the world says about you, and your own self-knowledge?
Most people (especially young people) would love to be famous, it seems.
I have a sneaky feeling I'd hate it with a mighty hatred.
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"The tension between what the world says about you, and your own self-knowledge?"
ReplyDeleteYou don´t need to be famous for that.
If I were famous, no one would ask: "What do you do?" They might even say, "How do you do?"
I know with an absolute certainty that I would hate it. I'm such a hermit as it is.
ReplyDeleteI'd hate to be famous, too. Well, I say that, but being quite a well known published writer wouldn't bring about the celebrity status I loathe, would it?
ReplyDeleteDying to know who the politician is, John! Go on, whisper...
I could tell you, Jo - but then I'd have to kill you. Anyway, you're already more famous than most, what with QWF, The Yellow Room, and all ten of your publishing fingers in a variety of publishing pies.
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