It's my American birthday today. Why did I get no presents? From Americans. I hate you America. You hypocrites. You just use your dating system when it's convenient for you! This is worse than all that Iraq business.
I don't get people recognising me all that often, so I am usually more than happy to chat to the people who do, as long as they are polite and choose their moment wisely. It must be pretty Hellish to be properly well-known as your every living moment must be punctuated by people coming up to tell you that they've seen you on the TV. What if you are just trying to have a quiet moment to yourself? What if you've just split up with your partner or you dog has just died? You're expected to be on call 24 hours a day if you are out in the public arena. I would find that annoying. I enjoy having a coffee and watching the world go by and listening in on other people's lives, knowing no-one is giving me a second thought and if they are the thought is, "Why is that weird old man staring
my teenage legs? The pervert!" (that's a link to my real birthday, America, you bloody idiots!)
But I think if you are going to approach someone you recognise that there are rules. Rule 1 - You must be pretty certain you know who they are or at least know something that they have done. It's a little bit rude to just ask "Are you famous?" or whatever and of course it's a self answering question in any case. If you have to ask then the answer is obviously no.
Rule 2 - choose your moment carefully. There are places and times where it is appropriate to approach a stranger and talk to them. If the person is crying while looking at a photo of a dog, then don't approach them. If the person is arguing with a partner then don't approach them. If they are doing something personal like doing a poo or having sex in a wood, then best to let them finish before you accost them. It's simple good manners. Just because someone has been on TV you don't own them. Just because you recognise them that does not make them automatically your friend. You might be a dick. You have to factor that into the equation.
Today I was at the gym. I had already done about forty minutes on the machines and was sweaty and tired and was sitting on one of the weights machines having just done my first ten reps. A slightly wild eyed man approached me. He did not look like a supreme sportsman and yet he had one of those slightly ludicrous breathing strip things across his nose. It would have been hard to take him too seriously even without this, but the breathing strip just drew my eye, like a hairy mole that you don't want to look at, but can't help yourself.
I was right in the middle of an exercise and to me this is a moment which is as private as defecation and it is certainly something that I am almost as self conscious about. It's horrible to think of anyone even being aware of you when you're exercising, especially when it's something as poncy and vain as using a weights machine. This is not the time to accost a stranger. Wait til I am drinking at the
"Fountain of Knowledge" or standing idly around. Or at least until I am getting up from the machine. I was immediately on the defensive.
"Excuse me," he stuttered, "Are you telly? I mean, are you on the telly?"
He had broken both rules at once. Admittedly he didn't know about the rules and nor did I really at that point as I hadn't written them down yet, but he wasn't really aware of who I was, but had just at some point seen me on his own TV and felt that was something exciting. Maybe it is. But he had a breathing strip on his nose. It was hard to take him seriously.
"I used to be," I told him hoping my words would permeate the fog of funky sweat that hung around me.
"In some comedy thing?" he asked.
"Yes," I replied with a slight tinge of tetchiness in my voice which was meant to indicate that it was slightly inappropriate for him to be interrupting me mid-jerk, so to speak.
He smiled and his wild eyes looked a bit more wild.
"I thought I recognised you. What's your name?"
"Richard Herring," I said self-consciously.
"Richard who?" he asked. He really had no idea who I was.
"Richard Herring."
"Oh right." This hadn't helped him place me, but he seemed happy enough to have just met someone who had appeared on television, even if it was probably a television from seven years ago which was not HD ready and almost certainly not even wide screen. What's impressive about that?
He hung around for a few more moments, but I was now ready to do my next set of reps (I think it means repetitions - I am just trying to sound like I am a proper gym guy) and so was trying to project this thought into his brain. I hoped it would go in through his nostrils. The strip on his nose should surely facilitate such telepathy.
"I saw you and I was sure I'd seen you on telly," he repeated.
"Yeah, well thanks. Um... nice to meet you..." When telepathy fails, old fashioned rudeness can sometimes do the job.
He went off still smiling and still breathing slightly more clearly than he might otherwise have been doing. I went back to my punishing exercise regime and thought of all the Kit-Kats that I could now take out of my fridge and throw in the bin as a result.
