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Karen Dunbar's Column: Oh boy...this fame game can leave you feeling flat; SHE'S WITTY, SHE'S WISE, SHE'S HERE...

IT'S been a strange time for me since Chewin' The Fat aired in November. See, people always shot me sidewards glances when walking up the town anyway, but now I have to decide if I'm attracting attention because my hair's a mess or because of my TV appearance.

But an incident last week plonked me hard and fast in my place!

I was standing in Govan Bank on a hellish wet day with all assemblance of dignity washed away in the downpour.

As I waited my turn, a wee auld woman huckled herself and her wee auld woman-sized trolley in the door, adjusting herself to her surroundings.

Just then she spied a dishevelled me and breathed excitedly, "Oh!".

I looked over at her and realising she'd recognised me, batted my eyes at her by way of false humility. "It is! It's you! Oh-a!"

I laughed, in a coy, nearly famous way. Just as I was about to whip out my pen and ask her who the autograph was for she looked at me squarely and said "You're Margaret's boy aren't you?"

As I left the bank examining my cleavage I heard the woman next to her say "I think that was a lassie..."

Ah, the price of fame.
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Title Annotation:Features
Author:Dunbar, Karen
Publication:Sunday Mirror (London, England)
Date:Apr 9, 2000
Words:208
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