Despite being a radio journo, I still managed to get my face on the television news on a number of occasions – usually in a media scrum; a) looking bored, b) checking the sound levels, c) scowling or d) staring off into the middle distance, wondering when I could sneak away and have a quiet ciggie.
I never gave it any thought until I was standing in the check-out at Coles some years ago and the check-out chick said to me “You look familiar. Have I seen you on the tellie?”
There followed a slightly surreal conversation, where I attempted to persuade her that no, I wasn’t famous and my autograph would have very little re-sale value.
This got me thinking about what it must be like to be truly famous, to achieve that level of fame where you can’t even go to the cricket without your mug appearing in the papers and where bogans fell compelled to comment on your tattoo.
Much like Lara Bingle (left).
At some point you must start believing your own bullshit, that you are a wonderful, talented individual and anybody that thinks differently must be a “jelus h8ter”.
It must do your head in.
At which point you feel qualified to comment on Middle Eastern politics.