In my youth, I was quite the consumer of Rolling Stone magazine. I remember reading many articles where the writer had been given the opportunity to interview some musical god or other only to leave the interview intensely disappointed that their expectations of the person or band had not been met. "Never met your idol" was not an uncommon conclusion.
It's no secret that my living hero is one Martha Stewart and by amazing good fortune Martha was doing a book signing in Beverley Hills on my most recent trip to the US this month. I arrived early and lined up with a host of fancy, surgically enhanced Californian housewives. Waiting patiently in line, Martha's assistants informed us that there would be no posing with Martha, no requests for dedications in the book signing and by absolutely no means shall we have a flash turned on our camera.
I get it. Martha is a busy lady and no lady young or old looks good under a daytime flash. But no dedications? No posing? Oh Martha. I still love you despite your high maintenance behaviour. You're just lucky I wasn't writing for Rolling Stone.
Here I am, in brief conversation with Martha about roses gardens and Russel Crowe.