Aragorn Love Machine

Just the other day I was hanging out at a Jon's place. Pretty typical really. 3 in the afternoon, curtains drawn and the TV flickering in the smoke. Every now and then we rolled a joint or made some tea.

Jon had just put on a DVD and I thought recognised the guy in the film. He stood tall and straight. Majestically even. He was Muscular. He had long flowing hair and an angular, stubble flecked jaw.

I was sure it was him.

‘that’s whatsisname' I said.

Jon looked at me and said 'what?'

I pointed at the screen.

‘Aragorn, son of Arathorn.’

We watched.

I tried to imagine him with a sword, wearing a cloak and an amulet. I say tried to imagine, because in this particular film he was totally naked and thrusting into the behind of a women whose facial expression flashed between shock and indignation.

We waited, for quite some time, for another shot of his face. When it appeared, snarling, euphoric, we both sat forward.

It wasn't him. But it got me thinking- What must it be like to be famous?

I decided that it was time for a little adventure. It was after all only 3 in the afternoon. I was going to dress up like a disguised superstar and check people's reaction.

Jon dug out a pair of shades. Big black ones, perfect. It was a typically grey afternoon so I'd definitely stand out. Next was a black winter scarf. It was in no way cold outside. Jon was surprisingly good at this actually. It seemed to give him a sense of purpose for a few minutes.

I wrapped the scarf high up around my neck so it covered the lower part of my face. The look was just great. I headed off down to the local shops.

On the way I tried to put on a suspicious, slightly hounded sort of air. I think it was pretty authentic because I noticed plenty of people staring at me as they passed in their cars. One guy even gave me a double toot and called out something that was muffled by his car windows.

The first stop was the newsagents. There was nobody else in there when I walked in apart from the guy behind the counter. A haggard old guy with a 40-a-day face. He fixed a humourless, puzzled stare on me.

'Cold out is it?' he said

I chose to ignore this and picked up a gossip magazine from beside the counter.

'That's all' I said, with what I hoped was an air of celeb authority.

'three quid' he said and held out his hand. I could see that his eyes narrowed like he was trying to see through my shades. That's celeb, I said to myself.

Next up was the bakers.

This time the old lady recognised me immediately as I walked in.

'Everything alright Greg?' she asked

OK, I do know her. Being recognised, however is very celeb so I decided the best thing to do was make a quick exit. Without saying a word I crashed out of the shop and ran off, leaving the door shaking behind me.

I stopped a little up the highstreet and looked around. I wondered if anyone famous would live in a suburb like this. A high street full of pound shops. Crap everywhere. Seemed unlikely.

I decided to go back. Leave it to the pros. I'd get Jon to rewind the DVD, and perhaps make some more tea. Nice.