Four Foot Eight

Leicester Square

I used to be someone, thinks the faintly familiar woman in her fifties who's standing waiting for a Piccadilly Line train among the station's usual evening crowd - tourists, buskers, the odd worker who's been for a late drink. If I'd been here 20 years ago, she thinks, I'd not be able to stand here without being mobbed, pestered, asked for autographs. In fact, I probably wouldn't be standing here. I'd be taking a taxi. My adoring fans would have been waiting outside the theatre. Now here I stand unnoticed, just another face in the crowd. But isn't this better? Being a household name is bad for your privacy and certainly doesn't make for a quiet life, and at least now I can do what I want to do without being constantly bothered. Yes, I think maybe I prefer it this way. Fame is for the young.

A group of late-night revellers pass, and one of them frowns slightly in faint recognition before walking past without stopping.

Aha!, thinks the woman. There's still at least something there. I was beginning to worry.