I wish that I knew those starry names
That I could drop into chats with friends
So that they fizz like tablets dropped in water,
Bubbling furiously, as I glow in a crowd
Happy in the knowledge that I
Am the ine that’s connected
The one that is worthy of love.
When I lived in London I very regularly stood next to a celebrity as I ordered a pint in a bar. And because I was drunk, I was never frightened to have a chat. It meant that I could name drop a lot. I loved telling people that I’d sat with Ricky Gervais in my local, or passed Emma Thompson coming out of the toilets. It kind of made me feel special.
Now, I spend every evening in with my cat. I suppose age is the reason, but I can’t be bothered with leaving the sofa.
My friend was telling me how she knows the writer of the book that I’m reading and I did suddenly feel a little sad that I have such a secluded life. Every so often, I feel like I would love to be able to rub shoulders with the rich and famous so I can tell those exciting stories; make me feel special for five minutes.
But then I get home to my crochet blankets and the latest episodes of the Crown – and I think, perhaps not.