Ever walked down the street and felt that you were being watched?
I’m not talking about that time you forgot your trousers or had your skirt tucked into your knickers. You were being watched that time. Gawped at in fact.
But I’m talking about something more surreptitious.
Something you sense but can’t quite be sure of.
As if people aren’t moving turning their heads – just twitching their eyes. Like a ghostly portrait in haunted mansion.
So back to the street and the feeling of being watched.
Do you try to carry on as if you hadn’t noticed. Whistling maybe. Swaying in an attempt to look casual. Fighting the urge to speed up.
Whilst beneath cloth your buttocks are clenched. Your back is straighter. Your own eyes are swivelling while you force yourself not to look back over your shoulder.
Then imagine that the eyes following you are not just anybody’s eyes. That round each corner a new famous face confronts you.
Do you feel intimidated? Scrutinised? Weighed and measured?
Or as if you’re on a fantasy catwalk sashaying for an appreciative celebrity audience living and dead.
Or perhaps you smile to yourself, realising that the faces on the walls coincide with the guestlist for your ideal dinner party.
In this case a woman with priceless stories from the corridors of power, a playwright and resistance fighter (who was reputedly not at all as sombre as his image) and a singer and all-round party girl.
It could be quite an evening.
Seen any famous faces recently? Or is the quality of wall art less celebratory round your way?
And why we’re talking about ideal fantasy guestlists for dinner – which three people living or dead, real or imaginary would you invite?