Karen Dunbar's Column: Oh boy...this fame game can leave you feeling flat; SHE'S WITTY, SHE'S WISE, SHE'S HERE...
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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|Publication:||Sunday Mirror (London, England)|
|Date:||Apr 9, 2000|
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