Fame

Why do you gossip so much, Blog? Do you tell everyone everything all the time??? I don’t know who you have contacted Blog, but this fame business is not much of a joke. I know fame cannot last forever but this ‘5 minute of fame’ business is no laughing matter. When I say five minutes, that is an understatement. It has been the last couple of days really, since I wrote to you about my hitting the national  5^th estate in a big way. E-mails, I can ignore. Phone calls I cope with by leaving the receiver off the hook (I haven’t got one of those head frying things).People banging the door can be threatened with trespass and sent packing. But everything else... well I mean. I haven’t been able to go anywhere or do anything this last three days without a constant demand for my autograph. Sign this, sign that, sign the other, just because of the impeding Daily Telegraph write up. Scoop?? I know I trudge slowly but 61:21minutes for five miles is cutting it a bit even for me. Stop –start, stop-start. At first I couldn’t understand why all these people were stood outside my gate as I set off for my trudge on Saturday afternoon. I thought they were after the geo cache hidden in the septic tank, or they were on a treasure hunt, searching the soak way for a gem or two. But no. They were nowhere near the outside loo. They wanted an autograph. Well.

If the truth be told, I am not happy with this autograph collecting business, period. You don’t know what a signature will be used for, do you? Believe it or not, a couple of months back, someone was selling me on e-bay. Check it out if you think I fib! Me, on e-bay. Me, now in the Telegraph (Daily). Where will it end? My autograph and my photo on e-bay, I kid you not. I have to say I was somewhat taken aback to see that I was worth more than Daley Thompson , Dave Moorcroft or Justin Case. I was even pushing that nice man Mr Cameroon. Any way the autograph went. It was sold. I tell you I thought my wife was having a joke at my expense. I thought she had spent our inheritance on the purchase. But, of course if you know her, she hasn’t got a sense of humour. The last time I saw her laugh out loud was when we walking down the aisle together in church after we had signed the register. She was doubled up, tears rolling down her face. I cannot recall saying anything funny?  I asked my mum, and my sister how much they had paid for the autograph and photograph, but both denied buying them. I can exclude my immediate family. So who was it? Who?? I would suspect that you Blog might be the prime suspect but the sale was before you became my friend. Or were you stalking me before our friendship began? Perhaps it was that dopplethingie I told you about back in February?? Anyway, this stop and sign business went from bad to worse. We had the annual Godiva Festival in Coventry on Saturday. A musical etc. extravaganza. It is FREE. I must say, I criticise the Coventry Council but I have to admit that they were spot on with this promotion. FREE and POPULAR, over three days every July in the War Memorial Park. Go along Blog, you will enjoy it. To cut a short story short, the procession became chaotic because the performers-cum-marchers were all stopping for a piece of the action when they saw me in the watching crowd. Sign this, sign that. Terribly embarrassing. And it was no better on Sunday. We had a track league meeting in Stafford. I was supposed to be officiating, but the Field Referee requested that I find a quiet spot somewhere about ten miles away from the arena as the crowd kept crossing the track, interrupting the races for my signature. And worser still yet. I was so embarrassed. A young lady sprinter asked me to sign on her bra. On one bosom she wanted a slogan entited ‘Breasting the tape first’ and on the other bosom a slogan entited ‘Nippling across the line first’.  I didn’t quite know where to put my hand to stop her heaving bosom without blotting my ink. Embarrassing or what??

Did you know, Blog, that fame is a costly business too? On Monday, to allow a little trudging in peace and quiet, and to avoid repeatedly having to stop my trudge, I had a stack of signed postcards of me printed; a tasteful shot of a time when I trundled rather than trudged. Now as I pass the waiting hoards, instead of a high five, I pass over a postcard without breaking my rhythm. And here’s the cleaver bit .... to offset the printing costs of this wheeze, my wife has started selling tea (50p), coffee (60p) and sandwiches (£2.50) to the waiting press corps camped outside the estate gates.  The Daily Telegraph hacks are charged double, their penalty for starting this carry on.

On Tuesday, I went down to Milton Keynes for the final race of the East Midlands Road Race Series. The lady who runs ‘The Running Shop’ in Northampton, Judith, seems to be one of the few sports retailers who actually put something positive back into the sport. She has been supporting the series for several years now, and should be congratulated on her efforts. Anyway, the amazing thing is that no one asked for my autograph because of my press fame. Not a single person. No one. Nilch. Why?? Because I had dyed my hair and facial adornment jet black, that’s why!!! Cleaver or cleaver?? No it wasn’t. Everyone was like ‘sign this, sign that, sign the other’ because they all mistook me for one of those 118118 blokes on the telly. [This did used to happen when the ads first started, I kid you not, Blog!! But that was when I was young and could cope with the pressures of fame.]

Today, I am not going out. I can’t cope with all the stress. I shall trudge on the spot for a couple of hours. I can watch Cbeebies at the same time. Mr Tumble is a character isn’t he?? I just love Mr Tumble.

                             Colin