Innocence is such bliss. Last week an acqaintance called from the local newspaper and invited me to lunch. How rude to say I was too busy. How flattering to be asked.
And I could choose the restaurant. This was sounding better and better and food figures too large in my life.
As I mentioned in a previous blog, I was late with no make up and the reporter was not my acquaintance. Now the entire thing is in print, three quarters of a page in the business section, with a picture. Judging by the red marks, shown in black and white, blotted across my neck, I was in an stressed state. I admit the photographer did keep flashing, the camera, but I cannot believe that was the best he could manage. I feel the pilates classes, the dentist, the hairdresser and less supper coming on.
It appears that everyone in the area with a few pence to spend on a copy now know my age, what I ate and drank for lunch, goat's cheese tartlet with salad and hot water, when I married, what Birthday Boy does for a living, the dates my sons were born, where I was born, where I live now, what my father did for a living, a resume of a rapidly formed CV and generally everything about me.
And the worst thing is that I dutifully answered all the questions with the words 'no comment' never entering my brain, which was obviously on holiday.
The outcome is people calling me and asking if I enjoyed my lunch. Diane has said that all publicity is good but it is not her blotched picture on the page.
I know life is short but when you see your life condensed on the page I want to stretch the page and fill in all the anecdotes, all the laughter, family and friends that made this life but then I think that is called a book and not an article.
The reporter got off lightly with only two hours to spare and overall I think I got off lightly too; just imagine if there had been more time to spill the beans?
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