Fame’s Bright Glow

It always surprises me when people hand me compliments. I don’t mean small compliments. Those I usually deserve and I take whenever and wherever I can. I mean big compliments; praise that’s heavy in the packaging and with the postage to deliver it across the dense hinterland of my vast and incalculable ego. Compliments of this sort are a powerful drug. They are overwhelming gifts of generosity that leave me believing every flattery. Or, at least, I did until quite recently when I realised that it’s only my fame that these people enjoy.

This type of compliment says more about the people giving them than they do about the object of their praise. I know that my fame is the reason why some people read what I write. And that’s the only reason. Celebrity is like that. The candle never fails to attract a moth or two that come fluttering into its flame.

I address these thoughts to the latest moth to singe his wings on the glow of my fame. ‘Arthur’: I appreciated your email but I would prefer it if you loved me for who I am. The photograph of your latest tattoo was a touching but I share your wife’s opinion. It must indeed be a shock for her to roll over in the middle of the night and see me staring at her from beneath the duvet. In other words, I appreciate the compliment but I strongly advise you to start wearing pyjama bottoms.