Being Grant Mitchell.
Thursday 1 November 2007
I was just in M&S picking up a few groceries. All of a sudden, this lady, maybe in her fifties, comes slowly up to me. I see her out of the corner of my eye and I'm thinking it's all a bit strange.
"Sorry," she says, suddenly, "I thought you were that Grant Mitchell off the telly. I was going to ask you for your autograph."
It's becoming a fucking epidemic. As I've said before, I don't even look much like him. Shaved head, jeans, leather jacket. That's about it. My grandmother's name was Peggy, but she couldn't have possibly known that.
Still, it wasn't all bad. I got a tenner for my signature. Then I slapped the woman and ran out of the store without paying. Fuck 'em - I'm a celebrity.
There's a book in this, actually: Being Grant Mitchell. I'll walk the Earth, like Caine in Kung Fu, picking up stories and anecdotes from famous people like me who look like celebrities, and how it's made their lives absolutely magical. The epilogue, of course, will be Ross Kemp and I meeting for drinks in a very public place and then, hilariously, people will still be asking for my autograph and shunning him.
I'm going to be very, very rich indeed.
posted by Sheamus @ 2:00 pm
