Celeb life not for me

I'M not sure I want to be a celebrity anymore. As regular readers will know I have often styled myself as a “wanna-be Ipswich celebrity” based on my unswerving devotion to myself and me.

I'M not sure I want to be a celebrity anymore.

As regular readers will know I have often styled myself as a “wanna-be Ipswich celebrity” based on my unswerving devotion to myself and me.

As a friend recently told me James it's “all me, me, me, with you”.

Nevertheless, I'm beginning to wonder if I being a celeb is what it's cracked up to be. Do I really want to be famous just for the sake of fame? Is being an IT boy that exciting?

And anyway, on the celebrity qualifications I have failed miserably in the last year.

I have never been the subject of a kiss and tell story - thank God though it's pretty unlikely anyone would want to admit a liaison with me.

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I have never been in rehab - though my little Ipswich sitting room is very calming.

I have never been photographed lying on a beach in my swimming trunks - I doubt it would sell papers and Felixstowe isn't often a paparazzi destination of choice.

I have never thrown a tantrum of frustration - though I get close every time I have to call my bank in Calcutta.

I have never been invited to a celebrity party - though I did once meet Patsy Kensit in a lift and my mum met Bryan Ferry at a dinner party.

I have never been recognised - though there are a few shopkeepers in town who remain loyal fans.

I have never been for a night out with Cilla - though I suspect she's not often to be found painting the town red in Ipswich.

I have never been to Birkhall for a weekend with Camilla and Charles - the invitation must have got lost in the post.

Depressing though this may appear, I am not convinced I am better off without it. Who wants money and endless column inches? At least I get to chose what's written about me, because I write it and it's only once a week.

The thing is the modern 'celebrity' no longer has to display any amazing talent, nor ability beyond:

Sleeping with someone famous - Rebecca Loos and that former nurse girl Abi Titmuss both did this.

Being brash and rather coarse on a reality television show- Jade Goody.

Inheritance/living off a trust fund - Paris Hilton/Tara Palmer-thingy/Lady-what's-she-called Hervey.

Getting sacked from your job - Piers Morgan.

Having a famous parent - Calum Best is a prime example.

I'm not sure I could handle the late nights and the constant partying. I'm getting to an age where a night in with a red wine (bottle, of course) and a DVD is most appealing.

Do I really want to be pictured sozzled on the streets of Ipswich or queuing for a burger in Lloyd's Avenue at 1am?

I don't think so. There's nothing worse than a fat boy with fast food.

And anyway I have a latin GCSE and can play Beethoven slowly on the piano.

In the final analysis, I'm overqualified.

I'M off on a long journey.

My destination this time is Cumbria and on Friday morning I shall be getting up early and heading to the distant land of the north.

I'm a little concerned about the journey, though I have every faith in the little blue Polo.

There's a nice box of travel sweets ready to suck on but I don't have satnav - I couldn't bear the interruption to the sound of my own voice - and I'm not too hot at map reading.

Instead, I have printed out a set of instructions from the internet, golly its clever, so I know how to get there.

I'm staying in Windermere and particularly interested in sites of historical interest - I studied history many years ago - so if you have any nice places you've visited do let me know.

SOUTH East Suffolk Magistrates' Court isn't going to be the same without Maureen and Pat.

Ushers there of many years standing, the ladies are leaving a generation of reporters without the benefit of their experience.

Not only have they provided us all with essential tip offs, nuggets of knowledge about who's coming up in court and when and what court might be hearing something of interest - all with a friendly smile - but Maureen, I know for a fact, is also a regular reader of my column.

And if you're even half as vain as me it's always nice to have a fan.

So all the best ladies, all of us at The Evening Star today wish you well in your retirement.

I STILL haven't won at the bingo. It's been weeks.

Last time I went I tried a 'wiz' - an electronic device that tells you when you are going to win and gives you lots more books.

It's very easy, you input your numbers onto a console without the need of a dabber.

Convinced I was going to scoop a fortune, by the time I sat down to play equipped with a drink, an ashtray, a sausage roll and a copy of Hello! magazine, in my mind's eye I had already bought a town house in Chelsea and a rambling estate in the Cotswolds.

Unfortunately for you, my numbers weren't called, so I'm still here.

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