No-one on the train to London yesterday could fail to notice the Geordie with curly blonde hair. She sat at the end of the carriage and spent the entire journey babbling loudly into her mobile.
Between fragments of the usual chatter ("so are the girls all there?") she dropped names of television shows - Casualty, Emmerdale and Hollyoaks - implying insider knowledge of each. We learnt about the precise brand of hair curlers she required and the parts her agent wouldn't let her take.
One by one my co-travellers exchanged glances, eyebrows quizzing each other, "Do you recognise her?"
We were all on the look-out for celebrity. Partly to be proud of sitting in the same second-class carriage but also so we could tut loudly and shake our heads at the vanity of it all.
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