'Oh, look who it is...'

This week I have found myself somewhat of a celebrity… amongst my friends that is. Having appeared in The Independent on Sunday on, well, ah, Sunday I received a litany of text messages and emails – and by litany I mean about 10 – stating how well the article read – thank you to Kate the editor for that one! – and how pleased they all were that I actually did something with my life. Or more to the point did something. You’d expect these moments to implant a Messianic complex in my psyche but, in fact, the opposite occurred. I felt shy. Embarrassed. I held off telling the people at work in case they should think me arrogant, up myself, conceited. But when I finally told them yesterday they seemed pleased, earnestly chuffed for me. I was beginning to feel content. And then came a phone conversation with my best friend Katie.

‘Really liked the article.’

‘Good. I’m pleased.’

‘The photo makes you look a bit…’ She tailed off.

‘A bit?’ I prompted her.

‘Well, a bit smaller. Yeah a bit smaller. Smaller and…’ She tailed off for a second time.

‘And…’

‘Well it looks like they’ve forgotten to hold down shift when they’ve readjusted the photo.’

Having not recently flicked through my Dummies Guide to Photoshop I inquired what she was implying.

‘You look fatter.’

‘I am fat.’

‘Overweight. Not fat. And certainly not that fat.’

‘Alright,’ I said. ‘Take the wind out my sails why don’t you.’

‘I was just…’

Once the seal was broken, the comments came flooding in. ‘Nice article, even if you do look like a fat bastard!’ ‘Good one mate, or should I say porky?’ ‘Hey Impostor. What have you done with Gareth? Eaten him I presume?’

I found myself ignoring phone calls and emails. ‘Oh I see,’ one lifelong friend wrote after a day of no reply ‘now you’re brushing shoulders with those London media types you haven’t got time for the likes of me. Well, just remember who got you out of that mess with Barry McGuire. I wish I’d never given you your pants back!’

Within in the span of a day I’d gone from ‘my famous friend’ to ‘to an ignorant bastard with no back bone, no home, no real friends and no stereo.’ The stereo bit threw me if I’m honest. I decided to cosy up to them all, and sent them a thank you letter informing them that I’d been at work and didn’t want to reply in a rush. They seemed to accept my apologies. But the next time I see them, I’m going to cut them off mid-sentence, answer my mobile phone and shout at the top of my voice ‘Kylie darling, so kind of you to call!’