Yesterday we all packed into the cars and headed for the coast. I swam in the Mediterranean Sea with E, felt very much like the only celebrity I admire*, sunbathed on the sand, and finally managed to call England. (At home, when I answered with “It’s me!”, Mum’s reply was: “Who?” My call to K, however, was more receptive: “Omigod. How weird. You’re practically in Spain, looking at the starry ocean, and I’m sitting here in Norfolk. *pause* I really hate you sometimes.”)
And yes. It was a rather wonderful day. Marred only slightly by my irrational fear of foreign driving (as implied here). We ate mussels in a restaurant, and then drove home for after midnight.
*The term “celebrity”, in my view, has a very small spectrum. Writers, authors, poets, JB, (most) musicians, and artists: these are not celebrities. (And, ergo, I look up to a great number of them.) By “celebrity”, I mean Hello and Ok! fodder. The people who appear in those big, televised award ceremonies. Mainstream.
Although Evangeline Lily does her best (it appears) to stay out of the paparazzi firing range, she still gives interviews for Glamour and More. And thus, she achieves the infamous title of “Celebrity”.
But even so, I do admire her.