London's Sweetheart

It's been a bit of a weird day. Let's ignore the amount of trouble I had just getting up and dressed (I'm sure we've all had moments where we discover that everything we want to wear is dirty/full of holes), and lets ignore the fact that the one time I want to use the Jubilee Line before 11am on a Sunday is the very Sunday when it's not running until 11am. We can even put to one side the inherent weirdness of the production of Alice in Wonderland I saw at the Greenwich Theatre (pretty good with some amazing gymnastics, although I think most of it went over the heads of the majority of the audience, who were quite young children). Nope, what's been weird about today is that I seem to have become famous without realising it.

You know when you see a famous person and it takes you a minute to work out who they are, and during that time you're giving them a bit of an odd look? I've been getting that look all day. More than that, imagine opening a door to discover some famous person that you've always thought was quite cool was standing on the other side waiting to come through. You might look a bit surprised, then you might smile and hold the door open and let them come through. Well, that's also been happening to me all day. No-one's come up and explicitly asked for my autograph or anything, I've just been getting these looks of pleasant shock followed by unexpected friendliness.

The way I see it, one of three things must have happened:

1. Everyone in London has started reading my blog and realised it's totally awesome.
2. I have a look-alike who is a talented and lovable television personality, who I've somehow never come across.
3. I've been having the best hair day ever.

Whatever the reason, people smiling at you and being nice is pretty great, so I would say that I'd like it to carry on, except that it culminated in a woman on the tube glaring at me and then rubbing her thighs. The dark side of fame.