A few days ago, as I was arriving at the gym, I saw New Zealand’s Most Glamourous Ex-Coma Patient leaving. I suspect she may have been visiting the physiotherapist located inside the gym complex.
It’s strange. From the neck down she has a sort of fabulous thinness that, realistically, only 14-year-old girls can achieve with no effort but which thousands of adult woman around the Western world covet. But from the neck up she looks like Skeletor.
This proves that being in a coma may be a quick ‘n’ easy way to shed those pesky last few kilos, but the side effects (wasted muscles, cysts, looking like a skull-faced hag) are not worth the effort.
And today I was walking down Victoria Street when I saw The Guy Who Came Second. At first I couldn’t quite pick him. I recognised him from somewhere, like maybe he was a friend of a friend, some dude I’d briefly met at a get-together a few months ago.
He looked at me, like he recognised me, and then I realised who he was. He was The Guy Who Came Second. And he was walking down the street with The Girl Who Came Ninth. They’d just bought some lunch and were, I assume, walking somewhere to eat it.
Ironically, none of these spottings took place at my workplace, which is known for its higher-than-average number of famous and semi-famous people.