CLAIM TO FAME

I briefly went to the same school as Bill Wyman (albeit that he went to the boys and I went to the girls) and I often wondered if our paths ever crossed. Was he one of the boys that used to stroll in the park at Crystal Palace on balmy summer evenings eyeing up us girls while we giggled and flirted?. “Do you come here often?” “Only in the mating season” giggle, giggle. Ah, sweet innocence. We’ve come a long way since then Billy boy.

He was doing a “book signing” thing in our local town one evening last summer. A very important person to visit such an ‘umble little place and to think that I had this maybe acquainceship with him. A big night.

When we arrived he was standing outside the bookshop having a quick drag on a fag. A shrivelled little old man, but nevertheless a “celebrity”. I walked across the road, shook his hand and said “Bill, how nice for you to meet me”. Subtle play on word eh! Too subtle for Bill though. He looked confused, ignored me and continued a conversation he was having with one of his hangers on. Drat, he didn’t remember me. So what - this rock chick doesn’t want to be associated with an old grey geyser like that anyway. Sorry Bill, you blew it.