the story of my two brushes with fame
Wandering down Grafton Street, Dublin, earlier today.
Ahead of me some men unfurl a banner.
One of them shouts: "Who wants to hold Johnny Logan?"
The same words are also on the banner.
Another man stands directly under the banner.
A brief glance reveals that this man is the most famous Irish heart throb singer of the 1980's era, Johnny Logan. The banner and the shouted invitation clearly reference his biggest commercial success, a song entitled Hold Me Now.
Some sort of a promotion is underway, maybe a new Greatest Hits release or an upcoming tour.
He must be in his 50's but he still exudes a certain youthful vivace.
He's a bit like the French crooner Johnny Halliday.
Sort of dashing.
To his credit, as the banner unfurls, he also looks a bit sheepish.
The citizenry are not exactly rushing to hug him.
These days the jaded pornogrified Irish have a somewhat detached view of fame, at least when we're not actively resenting it.
Presently a matronly woman steps forward and gives the singer a hug.
Somewhere cameras whirl.
I find the whole thing a bit rum.
I'm getting a feeling of deja vue.
For lo!
I have met Johnny Logan before on this very street.
Let me see.
It was the dulcet Summer of 1985 when he was in the first white heat of his celebrity.
I was walking up Grafton Street and Johnny Logan came racing towards me pursued by a knot of teenage girls.
I had stepped neatly out of his way and he'd careened past me, on up towards Stephens Green, the shrieking girls gaining on him with every step.
They're going to kill him, I'd thought, but what a way to go.
Now here we were again thirty years later.
Same place.
Same scene.
Bigger pot belly for me.
Different median age and slightly less intensity of emotion for Johnny Logan's groupies.
I watch the group congealing around the banner.
The whole thing is a bit lacklustre.
I suppose I could lend a little help.
But our previous meeting and his fame and my easy going macho nonchalence notwithstanding, I don't feel I knew him well enough to hug him.
So I keep walking.
I wonder will Johnny Logan ever realise that twice in his life he has been in the presence of Ireland's greatest living poet.
Ahead of me some men unfurl a banner.
One of them shouts: "Who wants to hold Johnny Logan?"
The same words are also on the banner.
Another man stands directly under the banner.
A brief glance reveals that this man is the most famous Irish heart throb singer of the 1980's era, Johnny Logan. The banner and the shouted invitation clearly reference his biggest commercial success, a song entitled Hold Me Now.
Some sort of a promotion is underway, maybe a new Greatest Hits release or an upcoming tour.
He must be in his 50's but he still exudes a certain youthful vivace.
He's a bit like the French crooner Johnny Halliday.
Sort of dashing.
To his credit, as the banner unfurls, he also looks a bit sheepish.
The citizenry are not exactly rushing to hug him.
These days the jaded pornogrified Irish have a somewhat detached view of fame, at least when we're not actively resenting it.
Presently a matronly woman steps forward and gives the singer a hug.
Somewhere cameras whirl.
I find the whole thing a bit rum.
I'm getting a feeling of deja vue.
For lo!
I have met Johnny Logan before on this very street.
Let me see.
It was the dulcet Summer of 1985 when he was in the first white heat of his celebrity.
I was walking up Grafton Street and Johnny Logan came racing towards me pursued by a knot of teenage girls.
I had stepped neatly out of his way and he'd careened past me, on up towards Stephens Green, the shrieking girls gaining on him with every step.
They're going to kill him, I'd thought, but what a way to go.
Now here we were again thirty years later.
Same place.
Same scene.
Bigger pot belly for me.
Different median age and slightly less intensity of emotion for Johnny Logan's groupies.
I watch the group congealing around the banner.
The whole thing is a bit lacklustre.
I suppose I could lend a little help.
But our previous meeting and his fame and my easy going macho nonchalence notwithstanding, I don't feel I knew him well enough to hug him.
So I keep walking.
I wonder will Johnny Logan ever realise that twice in his life he has been in the presence of Ireland's greatest living poet.
posted by heelers | 4:38 AM
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