10. You befriend a venerable lady of classical cinema.
Don’t be mistaken, this bond isn’t one forged by nights of spiralling sexual orientation and a proclivity for drug use whilst being free from the shackles of underwear, It’s more of an avuncular relationship, or what ever the feminine equivalent of that word is. The Ladies and the Dames aren’t going to be there on the front line with you when you’re troubleshooting suitable burial spots for the Taiwanese rent boy who’s enjoyment of asphixatian in the bedroom ‘would always be the death of him’ (his mother told him countless times!) Hoewever, these stoical bastions of the silver screen will defend your honour at every given opportunity, and assure the public that you have never been anything short of a fucking saint.
9. Kanye West hates you.
He claims to have walked with Jesus, which is probably why Jesus acquiesced so pithily when the boys in blue came to arrest him. Who suffered worse from their association with Kanye West: Jesus, or Autotune? A matter for another time perhaps. Taylor Swift must’ve cursed her considerably inactive peripheral vision at the Video Music Awards as Kayne came walking (Minus Jesus- he was in the 16th row with his head in hands thinking ‘Why did I walk with that prick’) onto stage. Although it was at that moment Taylor knew in her heart she’d made it. Fin.
8. You record a song with Kanye West.
You don’t know it how it happened, but it did. You’re at the top of the charts pontificating to girls about the benefits of having a fat arse (for dancing, yo!) alongside the man who not weeks before was giving you a right dressing down. You stand beside him in front of a white backdrop in the video, ostentatiously performing an exaggerated nod to the beat of the track while he points angrily down the lens with his next victim already in mind, and your mind wanders to those happy days with your garage band when the world didn’t seem such a hellish circus of lost hope.
7. You’re barefoot often
The independant is doing a piece on your diverse acting roles. The piece is called ‘Behind The Masks: Finding the Constant of Lester Goulding.’ You meet in the lobby of the Parker Merridian Hotel. The young journalist is nervous so she’s there earlier. Fidgeting with her pen, she hears the unmistakable sound of flesh on marble, a noise she remarks silently, not unlike the sound of wet testicles against a shop window. You swan gracefully across the floor, your bare feet symbolic of your constant questioning of society’s conventions, evident in your magnificent body of work as well as your lack of footwear.
6. You develop facetious political views.
People ask your opinion on matters of grave magnitude, and you being vastly important offer up a gem like: “I personally believe that U.S. Americans are unable to do so because, uh, some people out there in our nation don’t have maps and, uh, I believe that our, uh, education like such as in, uh, South Africa and, uh, the Iraq and everywhere like such as, and I believe that they should, uh, our education over here in the U.S. should help the U.S., uh, should help South Africa and should help Iraq and the Asian countries, so we will be able to build up our future for our children.”
5. You’re on Eastenders.FM!
The sound of mass desperation often manifests itself as perpetual cockney drone, eating at the soul until it’s rendered as vacuous as the wretched eyes that bobble in Dot Cotton’s weary sockets. The Eastender’s writers soon got wise to this existential hell and decided that an incongruous soundtrack would lift the spirits of the viewers. Careful not to lift them too much (suicidal contemplation are considered the most desirable emotion in the Eastenders viewer) they pepper smash pop hits throughout the cafe’s and bars via awful tinny radio speakers. If you find your music documenting domestic abuse, alcoholism, rape, murder, gang war and Phil Mitchell’s bizarrely prolific sex life, you know you’ve made it.
4. You press your fingers together during interviews.
This is the internationally recognized symbol of serene contemplation, which is only afforded to those who have honed there craft. Even Simon Amstell wouldn’t dare break the intense silence that accompanies this gesture if it were Al Pacino opposite him. Although it would be strange because Pacino would never appear on Never Mind the Buzzcocks, and even stranger because Amstell doesn’t present it anymore. I don’t know why but I can’t see John Cusack getting away with this gesture. Has he not made it?
3. You don’t bring a towel anywhere.
cloth or towel. Know the difference, it could save your life
…Because there’ll always be towels supplied for you. Fact.
2. People come to your gigs solely to get pished.
For this segment, I have included an extract from the (at the time of publication yet unreleased) autobiography of Liam Gallagher, an esteemed poet and philosopher of the mid 90′s:
The sky had draped a celestial canopy of reverential beauty that only increased in splendour as the desperate sun sunk to its repose beyond the horizon. I took this as an omen of good fortune and my mood was lifted somewhat by Nature’s wondrous temperament. Noel, my elder sibling in both age and contentment, expressed a similar sentiment to my own – not physically, I hasten to add: there was something in his countenance that suggested to me a serene satisfaction with how the night would inevitably proceed. With our hearts content we made forth to the performance stage, were invariably our spirits would intertwine with those who had made their way to the arena, the intoxicating camaraderie of joviality and youth fuelling their already joyful energy. I endeavoured to the front of the stage to furtively view the state of our company, and as I did I caught a glance of something cascade through the crisp night air. A bird perhaps? Surely no creature of the avian world would brave the cacophony of a bold number of men in close proximity. I put it down to a trick of the senses, and waited with ardent fervour for our lights to bask the audience in their glorious power. When the lights eventually burst forth, I almost lost my footing, as what I can only describe as Hades appeared before my eyes – Demon’s of the underworld surely had woken from their terrible slumber, and infested their foul souls into these good men before me. A wrenching, pulsating heart of indignity, pugnaciously rippling back and forth manifested itself before me. I dropped to my knees and wept, for the futile thoughts of love, kinship and peace that I had exercised seemed like knotted threads in a tragic dream.
1. You’re hanging out with Elmo.
It’s a wonder the furry magnificent bastard hasn’t been photographed at the end of a powdery white line, his endearing orange nose dusted in coke so it resembles an over-salted sweet potato, for this is precisely the sort of behaviour a celebrity socialite of Elmo’s status should be partaking in. Elmo hangs with the elite, you gots to earn that privilege. Ricky Gervais cites meeting Elmo as the highlight of his career, and if you ever find yourself rubbing furry shoulders with him, know you’ve nowhere to go from there, and you might as well die.
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30.07.10 
La Faro 
Ablespacer 
