Im not famous.
Im not particularly successful
Im not bothered.
Im not in the business to be fawned upon by strangers.
Ok, I kind of am, but its not why im doing it.
The bi-product of success in my industry is often fame.
Personally I get enough ego points just doing the job. The fun is in the moment.
I’ve done a number of things that will have shown me in some sort of public space that you may have seen before. You know. A shitty tv advert on in the background, a spot on this comedy show, “Come Dine With Me”. You know. Shit. Background shit.
So when someone walks up to me and asks where they may know me from, it brings a deep sense of dread. Why? Well the chances are I will have to start rattling off my bloody CV, just to see if it sparks a bit of memory. The resulting conversation normaly ends up with me feeling like a twat. A twat who has to cover the past ten years of work and achievements to a total stranger.
“Hey, Where Do I know you from?”
Me: Hi. I don’t know.
“Nah man, I know you from somewhere”
me: “I do stand up comedy. Have you been to one of the shows?”
“nah, it’s not that me: “Maybe you have seen a commercial I have been in.”
“Was it Vodacom”
me: “No thats not me. Maybe it was “Come Dine With Me“
“Nah. Are you not Kevin’s friend with the canoe?”
“Sorry I don’t know you.”
Then there is the confused person. They are convinced that they know you. They have SEEN YOU MAN. But it was at a festival and they were on mushrooms and black label. They are convinced you are the singer for a band that played in the afternoon at Splash Fenn or something. “SING THAT SONG MAN, SING IT”
This is my life. It could be worse.
The only thing more embarrassing that all of this. Having a very pretty lady overhear this scenario almost word for word. Classy stuff Martin. Classy stuff. (Hides face in shame).
But that is another story.