Wednesday, 1 February 2012

May I have your autograph please?

I’m never likely to be famous and quite frankly I have no desire to be so. I write this blog mainly for my own amazement and for anyone that happens to come across it. It’s nice when others read it but I see that as a bonus and not something I work very hard to encourage. So if I ever have the misfortune to become famous please be warned. I will not be signing autographs.

We have this strange class of people in this country, mainly driven by cheap ’n’ nasty television and the tabloids, which are famous for being famous. The celebrity is a curious and pointless phenomenon; talentless and yet famous. Pawns in a lucrative latter-day freak show. In my adult life I’ve never asked for anyone autograph and it is something that I don’t think I’ll ever do. I’ve been to concerts where at the end or in the interval the performer will be at the ‘product’ stall signing cds books etc. I’ve even made purchases on odd occasions. But I’ve never ever been tempted to have them signed. I’m not big on hero worship and can never see the point of an autograph. What does it do?

I suppose my unswerving belief that we are all equal kicks in and yes certain people might be very talented, artistic and/or clever having interesting things to say, sing or display but it doesn’t put them above the rest. We are all mere humans; flesh, blood and brains. No more, no less. I don’t acknowledge pedestals. It is why I can never see the point of awards or honours, and why I’m a republican. We are of equal value.



 

Confession corner
I own an unsolicited photo of The Smiths, signed by Morrissey. I wrote to him in the early days of The Smiths, no idea why. He wrote back and enclosed the photo. I hang on to it. Again I don’t know why. Perhaps I should shred it.

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