I am often asked by people who I meet how it is that I best deal with what they call ‘media intrusion’ and the terrible ways of the paparazzi.
The truth is, I have just learned that if I smile, treat people kindly, and try to do good things, I have nothing to be ashamed of when the coverage does make it’s way into the daily papers. So the media occasionally get a snap of me sharing a bad of jellybeans with someone who needs cheering up, or making a nice pot of tea whilst I sit down and have a chat with an old dear at a cafe, but never has a picture ever appeared of me kicking a puddle over a small child, or scribbling an unfair slogan on a wall whilst clutching a box of crayons.
There is only one thing that has bothered me over the years in regard to the paparazzi and general media, however, and this is the obsession with catching pictures of me whilst I shower or bathe.
I remember clearly the very first time that I heard that whirring sound whilst I shampooed my head. I thought that the water heater was about to give in until the sound hit home as something that I heard many times before. I slowly drew back the shower curtain to confirm my suspicions as the sound of the rapid-burst mode of a long range camera lens came into view, trying to grab a few grainy frames of me showering.
Yet another time I was laying in the bath, trying to soak away the pressures of a long day in my hotel suite after the Jellybean Ambassador Of The Year awards in London’s West End, when as I gazed up through the glass exiling of the penthouse suite at the stars that flickered gently overhead, the balding head of a particularly mean-looking photographer came into view, the quick succession of flashgun bursts temporarily blinding me and causing those peaceful celestial companions to disappear from sight.
The thing that bothers me about all this is that I’m pretty much always unclothed, so it just doesn’t make any sense.