Chapter Six.Fame & Misfortune

Fame and Misfortune.




I am not famous. Not just yet. But I will be one day. Just buy this book, erm, blog and I will be. Thanks. Apparently being famous requires something called “hard work”. Myself and “hard work” don’t normally associate together. I have been known to do “work”, but don’t mention it in front of my boss. Anyway that is for the biography, which I will have “Ghost Written” for me next week, when I am famous and doing “hard work”. I mean I won’t be able to write it myself will I? I shall be too busy doing the fame stuff.



I am assuming famousness is hard work, because I am told it is, by all the famous people I don’t know, who come on telly. Also, all the things that go along with being a famous person would probably make Fame prohibitive to me. I shall have to see. For instance, there is the fact that I will never be alone. There will always be somebody there. Usually to pander after my every wish. Blimey. I could even have to have someone in to wipe my arse(that’s Ass,if you are reading this in American.), bit tricky that one, what with my piles. I will apparently, also need all of the following. All of which are essential if you are a famous one.



A bodyguard: to keep away the unwashed. Okay I concede to that. I don’t want my washed body nicked by some unwashed person while I am still using it. Even if I am not using it, for that matter. I would like to keep it around in case I find that I need it at some point later on. It is after all, the only body I have at the moment. Maybe when you get famous, they give you a spare body for just this reason.



A hair stylist: Too late on that score. That has been nicked already. Well not really. I just grew too tall for it. All I need now is a bit of furniture polish. Never hurts to keep the old noggin looking gleaming. Saves on light bulbs too. So I am now ECO friendly in the shining bonce stakes.



The accountant: I am not going to want to count all my own money am I. Not that I can count. I tried it once and couldn’t get past twenty. Had to wait for ages for her Ladyshipness to come home from shopping to help out. Then when we got to forty we had to give up. We ran out of fingers and toes, and the kids were at school, with the only calculator available to us.



The Agent: A must have item if you are famous. Not a “secret” agent. Well I don’t think so anyway. That would be silly. Apparently he or she will get more work for me, so I can earn loads more money, and then keep the accountant busy for another hours worth, because they only charge by the hourly. I am not even famous yet, and I feel like I am working hard, and that’s just thinking about it. Phew! Makes my old head spin.



The P.A: Very important this one. I thought I already had one, but my Amplifier and Mike appear to only be a P.A. system. Which is apparently a different thing all together. I am told that a P.A is a “Personal Assistant”. A person, who is an assistant. It is truly remarkable, how I could ever even imagine, that I could have tried to manage without one. Amazing. According to a book I once read, the P.A is usually female, attractive, and resplendent with large breasts. She will organise my personals (sounds fun), and my time, and make sure I am at wherever it is I need to be, when I need to be there. Blimey! That’ll take some doing. She will also answer all my calls, because being as famous as I am obviously going to be, I shall be too important to do that myself. I am not going to want to sully my delicate little hands with such a menial task. Fame type things are not things I will be able to do myself with a diary and a modern mobile phone and a computer. Oh no!



(I apologise for the attractive female and large breast comment. Just a personal preference and a reminder note for if, and when, I need a P.A. I will most likely ask my Ladyshipness to fulfil the role as she qualifies in all those departments. (Note to self: Don’t let wife read book).

(Note to Publisher: Don’t print that last bit for Gods sake or the sequel will never happen.))



A Dietician: Required so I may be fed the correct amount of calories I shall need, to do famous things. Also all the correct foody type things that are good for me. My body will become a temple. Well, now that I think about it, I think it already is. I am not sure which brewer it is a temple too, but it’s got to be a good one. I don’t drink rubbish beer.



A Personal Trainer: Whom I must worship, and owe my body to. I don’t want to walk round looking like a big fat ugly balding old git do I? I must walk round looking like a lithe lean fit ugly balding old git.



A Guru: I must employ a Guru of some description, because, religion has always been an important part of my life. “ALWAYS!” Apparently. My spirit is only my spirit because of my good friend, the Guru. He will be there to help me with my KARMA. Presently, the only Karma I know of is the one with all those rude drawings in it. But that is about to change. I will soon be able to get the updated Photo version.



This fame thing looks like it’s gonna get expensive. All the people that I am going to have to employ. By the time I am really famous, I shall be my own little industry. This little industry will be called, “An Entourage”. A famous person like me would call them, “my close friends”. Friends I have known for weeks and weeks and to whom I would trust my life, and most treasured possessions. (Except the key to the drinks cabinet.)



With the Fame, comes the inevitable Fortune. I hope. After all. What is the point in being famous if you can’t be rich too? Even with an “Entourage” to pay for. I can’t be famous and live in a two bedroom semi in a cul-de-sac in rural Suffolk. No! I will need to live in a Penthouse suite at the top of some very large building in a very large city somewhere. Or a sprawling Mansion in the rolling countryside with room for an airport. Or even both.



I will, of course, have acquired a love of horses; so therefore, I will require a brand new stable block, built to my exacting standards. (Yes. I do have standards. Low ones, but standards all the same.) Where I can house my stock of rare thorough bred mounts. Looks like I will have to learn to ride one of the beasts too. So I will need to become best mates with Lester Piggott.



Because I can’t be seen out in any old car, I will have a garage full of Classic Motors, and a brand spanking new Range Rover Sport, or two. Because that nice curly haired Mr Clarkson reckons they are the best thing to have. I for one will not disagree with the God of “Top Gear”. I am not worthy.



With wealth, I will forget how to be able to think my own thoughts. I shall have people in the “Entourage” to do that for me. This means I must have whatever it is I have heard, or thought I heard I must have. Did you follow that? Me neither.



Because I will be famous, I will need to make sure my photo appears at regular intervals in newspapers, magazines, television news programmes, and now with the dawn of the webternet, I must also be digitally captured onto everybody in the whole wide worlds computers, mobile phones, and P.D.A’s. Whatever they are. I do know that unlike P.A’s they don’t have large breasts.



When famous, I will be asked to appear on “Chat Shows”. These are programs, normally on the “Telly”, but also on “Radio”. That’s like telly, but with no pictures, so pays less. On chat shows I will be required to talk about the most important person in my life. That’ll be ME then. Also whatever it is I’m meant to be promoting. It could be a new Book, which I have just finished wroting. It’s great, because the critics said so. My new Biography. The “Ghost Written” one, which will tell all that, has happened in my life, since the last one. (The one that covered the first twelve years.) The new one will be about how I beat drugs, alcohol and a ravenous sexual appetite to get funds for my next project. Working with starving, misunderstood, former famous people, who have been struggling on, with no help at all, since the court case. Apart from royalties from their back catalogue.



I must answer all the questions with modesty and humility, so that next time I appear on telly, or radio, with the same host, he or she may refer back to it. To sit there and just smirk, like a simpleton and only answer if my Lawyer has given me the nod, is seen as a NO. NO. Not smirking like a simpleton may cause a few problems. I tend to do it a lot. Being a simpleton.



The normal man or woman in the street (the FAN), won’t understand what it is I have to do to be this famous. They will not understand the pressure of having to dodge in and out of hotels through the back door so that the paparazzi don’t see me. To make sure I am not seen with that non famous person. I must only be seen with people of the same standing. People who know what a “rider” is. (No. Still don’t know.) I can never be seen with members of my own family, who, for no fault of their own, didn’t get to be Rich and Famous. My favouritest cousin, who I spent every Summer holiday with on the farm, cannot be allowed to draw breath in my presence, unless the whole area has been searched for hidden cameras, and declared a “Camera Free Zone”. The CFZ. is the only place I am allowed to be, ME!



Being “ME”, the famous one, is so tough. Camera and Radio teams come to me, because my time is too valuable to have to keep moving round. A hotel will be secured, a suite with all my favourite things, “riders” (ah!) which I must have requested personally, will be set aside for five minute interviews. The BBC will get six minutes when in the UK. IT IS THE LAW.













































(No non famous people were harmed in the making of this chapter.)