‘France’s Briget Jones’ is what the i-Tele interviewer called me.
‘I hope you gave him hell for that,’ said a friend afterwards. ‘You are much more together than Briget.’
If only he knew…. Seeing as the interviewer was my friend Jean-Jerome, who enjoys winding me up, I said nothing.
I got a bit lost on the way to the television studios and stopped in a neighbouring building to ask for directions.
‘It’s over there,’ said the helpful lady, before asking timidly. ‘And if you don’t mind me asking, who are you?’
Wearing a leather jacket makes for instant stardom I suppose.
I smiled. ‘Nobody important,’ I assured her. Perhaps I should have said ‘Briget Jones.’