Him. In the Starbucks in Richmond. The thing I am bad at is famous people. I'm the most uncool about it ever in the world. But I can't HELP it. It feels like a LIE. He knows that he is famous. I know that he is famous. It feels like some kind of riddle, to which the solution is, apparently, look at him out the corner of my eye so much that my head starts hurting, and then get up all in a rush cos he saw me STARING, and forget my wallet and the flowers at the table, and have to run back and get them and then drop the wallet and make an extremely, extremely loud rustling noise with the cellophane around the flowers as I walk out the door BACKWARDS. Like a CREEP. Like someone's terrible servant in a PLAY.
Beth's Duncan told me last night that he saw Emma Watson in a pub in Oxford and he stared at her so hard that she left. I can relate completely.
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