Almost famous

I've never wanted to be famous. I think I would prefer to have a brush with fame, a glancing blow of notoriety, be a footnote in history.

Perhaps I could have been the kitman for the 1966 England World Cup Squad. Making sure Geoff Hurst's shirt was clean for the final and perhaps subtlety influencing team selection by sitting behind Alf Ramsey in the dugout.

I don't ever want to win the World Series of Poker, I'd prefer to come second. Take the pay day and slink into the sunset and never play poker again.

Or how about an associate, a confidant of Bowie and Iggy Pop in West Berlin in the late 70s. A friend from down the bierkeller. Maybe I would go round to Bowie's and play scrabble, perhaps add handclaps and percussion to some of the album tracks on Lust For Life or Heroes. Maybe go and get some milk for Iggy's cornflakes after an all night recording session, as he was wrestling to finish the chorus to The Passenger. Bowie could put a subtle, obtuse hint in the sleeve notes to Low about the time he got a seven letter word against me on a triple word score, using a Q and a Z, in one of the breaks whilst he was laying down the vocals for Be My Wife. Twenty year later, I'd read it, chuckle, raise my eyebrows in an amused manner and wonder if taking drugs really does make you better at word based board games.

Yes that would be nice, that would be fine. I think I'd like that.