I only popped over to her blog to pick up a link in her sidebar and instead I’ve been riveted by Judith’s latest posting, Celebrity Spotting with my Friend Jane, which you should check out here. She’s talking about the Eagle Eye Club which has nothing to do with laser eye surgery or spare parts for taxidermists, it’s just a new ‘celebrity spotting’ game in which you rack up points under three headings:
1. Degree of fame (the more current, the higher the viewing figures the better apparently)
2. Location – the more unexpected the better. Not in their front room, preferably in yours.
3. Degree of intimacy achieved, did you speak to them, snog them or better still spend a night of unbridled passion together?
Ok, it’s Friday afternoon and I just can’t resist playing along…
I should mention first of all that I am not eagle-eyed and so I fully expect that I have, on more than one occasion, wandered dazedly past a celebrity with not a whit of recognition, despite their dark glasses, designer pooch and security entourage.
I did recognise Prince Charles, partly because of the sniffer dogs and in fairness I was expecting him and had spent a happy morning practising my curtsey. We even spoke – briefly – about my work and somewhere in the pig shed I have a photograph of the momentous (for me as well as for him) occasion. Any woman looking into those piercing blue eyes could be forgiven for falling for him though sadly, I have no nights of bridled or unbridled passion to share with you here.
I also recognised Nelson. The big black limo and outriders gave the game away. I was walking down London’s South Bank on my way to a meeting and the road and pavements were strangely clear of all traffic and pedestrians, sauf moi. I watched his motorcade glide slowly towards me and as his car (one of those with the extra-deep windows) reached me, there were probably 7 or 8 seconds where we locked eyes before I excitedly waved at him and he waved back. His memory of this might be less clear than mine, as he is that bit older. But it was probably the most significant sighting I’ve had of a celeb.
I have – literally – been serenaded by a well known Irish singer who held my hand all the way through a song of his. No, not Bono, but someone adored by Irish grandmammies everywhere and hardly known outside Ireland. A kiss at the end too but no tongues.
Then there was a celebrity triumvirate in the shape of Ryan O’Neil, Tatum O’Neil and Marisa Berenson. This was back in the mid-70s when "Love Story" had made Ryan a big star and Tatum was a little cutie who had won an Oscar for her role in "Paper Moon". Marisa Berensen was not such a big name but she had been dubbed the most beautiful woman in the world and was then an item with Ryan.
The location was a little unexpected, these three world famous American actors in my dad’s little supermarket in Kensal Rise, a then rather gloomy area of north west London but they were on their way to Ireland to film Barry Lyndon. I remember a couple of things about their visit.
Tatum fell in love with our cat and whined "daddy, daddy, can we buy the pretty kitty?" and had a mini tantrum when daddy said no. And while Ryan was thus diverted by Tiddles, Tatum and the tantrum, Marisa slunk up and hissed "where do you keep your Tampax?"
There’s just no answer to that, is there?