The trappings of fame.

I have an old friend who is a tiny bit famous. I will not tell you who he is because half of you will not have heard of him. It is not like, for example, having an old friend who is Sting. Then I would tell you all and you would ask me questions about tantric sex.

Which I could not answer.

Anyway. My friend. He is a musician. And the other night he was playing here in the Brighton (by the sea!) and we went to see him.

It was most odd.

He has been my friend since we were 11. At school he was a tiny little blonde thing, shorter even than me (and I think my regular readers - bless you - are aware of exactly how short that is). We were in school plays together. He is one of a group of very dear friends with whom I spent the summer following my A levels.

The band are good. They are really good. The music is original, catchy, and bouncy. Excellent qualities I think you'll agree.

There was a queue to get in. Lots of yoof waiting to see if they could get tickets.

I was on the guest list.

I felt like such a wanker.

"But what do I say?" I whispered to hub.

"You say you're on the guest list you twat," he replied.

He is harsh but fair.

I did not like it though. I stuttered like a girl. An embarrassed, slightly guilty and a tiny-bit-old-to-be-there girl.

But the free ticket bit was good.

I watched my friend be totally ace on stage and everyone in the audience was singing along to the songs and dancing and stuff.

I nearly burst with pride.

Afterwards, I went backstage to see him and say well done. I was stopped by a small weasley looking man.

"Can I help you?"

"Yes, I'm a friend of the singer, I just wanted to say well done..."

I felt like such a cock.

It was okay though, he let me through. After I had waited five minutes. Or so.

And when I was finally talking to my friend, a massive and extremely hard-looking man (I assume some kind of security chap) came up and said,

"So are you and the band alright for things?"

My friend answered that they were fine.

There was a pause, as the man glanced at me as if I was my friend's mother. Or aunt. Or babysitter.

"Yeah but, are you alright for .... things?"

He received the same answer.

I slunk into the night.

I am not cut out for the famous lark.