Once upon a time I was getting in to a sort of boiler suit in a changing room at a go-karting arena in Manchester, when I got chatting to the guy next to me. I was at some junket put on for members of the press, and one or two ‘tame celebs’ – mainly former racing drivers. The man on my right seemed friendly enough, so assuming he was another reporter, I asked him who he worked for – a common enough line among journalists.
“Ummm, well, I used to be a pop star.” He replied, good humouredly. I looked at him, he didn’t look familiar. I thought I ought to try a bit harder. “Oh right,” I replied. “So, were you in a band?” “Yes, but we broke up” he said, “it was called Take That.” I looked again. Still not familiar. “Oh yes, I’ve heard of them… err… of you.” I said weakly. Then, thinking on my feet, I took a bit of a punt: “Have you had a hair cut?” He grinned. “Yeah, I used to have dreads.” I got a page lead in one of the red tops the next day: “Howard is top of the crops.” A real journalistic high point.
I think that after a slight career hiatus, Howard is now pretty famous again, although I still wouldn’t bet on being able to recognise him. There’s a funny thing in life where we value what we perceive to be status and importance, based on success in one arena or another. All that is very flimsy, and pretty meaningless, intoxicating but insubstantial. Real success in life has nothing to do with whether people recognise you in the street, it has everything to do with how we love one another. Well… that’s my excuse for not recognising him.
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