On Facebook the other day, the following photograph came up on my newsfeed suggesting that I could spend a year here with my ‘second’ tagged friend (selected by the Facebook Gremlins).
I’m not sure what reaction I was supposed to have but it probably shouldn’t have been a sense of horror, and no, it was nothing to do with the person who came up as my second contact. Fair enough I could probably go for a week and only be forced to get boredom drunk for half of it, as long as I had a stack of good books.
However, having just lived through lockdown one, two and three, this island paradise looks worse to me than my house. At least at home I have my stuff and can do jobs that have been on the never never until we were forcibly made to stay in. But a hotel room, deluxe as it may be, for a year. Shoot me now!
This got me thinking, are A-list celebrities really living the dream?
So you’re Adele, Beyoncé or Oprah, picture it. Yes, I fancy a holiday, but wait, I need to go to a private villa, with a chef, private beach, no access from passers-by, basically, no interaction with anyone that I’m not paying to come away with me. Aside from everyone around the pool taking pics for their Instagram, ‘look who showed up on my hols aren’t I brill?’ posts, there’s the press and the odd loony that might want to kidnap me or my child.
Besides, no one, I don’t care who they are, enjoys day one in a bikini when you have to sun cream every inch of your carcass and pay particular attention to the bikini edges that burn like nobody’s business, but that’s it – it is nobody’s business.
Day one, I cringe at my own reflection in a window as I slink down to a sun lounger, hoping not be noticed – even by myself. Shiny, pale, my bad hair in a top knot (previous post) and usually sporting an airport check-in shin bruise, I lay down and open my book. Now, I’m on holiday.
Picture yourself in that scene as Adele?
So, onto the holiday fun, you know, the stuff that keeps you giggling for years- do you remember that fella and his wife etc etc? Now who’s Adele laughing at? (Don’t judge me, we all do it). Her private chef is making her a bowl of nutritious steam, I’m gorging on local wine and trying food that sounds nice but I’ve no real clue. She’s sitting on her private veranda, I’m chatting to other holidaymakers at the bar. She’s getting up at dawn to exercise, I’m sleeping in. She’s very mindful of photographers and I’m forbidding the kids from taking photos in the day, okay probably common ground. But you get my point?
So, is this why celebrities (proper celebrities) all go a bit bonkers? There’s no one in ‘real life’ to say “turn it in love, you’re being a dick,” instead they are surrounded by sycophantic employees and wannabes who agree that you most definitely should make candles that smell of your wanny (Gwinny), or that Kanye West isn’t a complete div, “yes you should run for President Kanye”.
Celebrities may go to the best parties and have great clothes, but from where I’m standing, their holidays and the number of genuine giggles with real friends looks like a life that I wouldn’t wish for, in the words of the great Taylor Swift, ever, like never ever.