About nine years ago Edyta Górniak tried to run me over in Warsaw. A few weeks ago Celine Dion tried the same thing in Krakow. I don’t know what I’ve done to offend the glittery song birds of our age, but they seem to have it in for me.
There I was, nine years ago, innocently waiting to cross the road outside Empik in Warsaw (the old one) when some dude in an ill-fitting jacket and dark glasses started waving, gesticulating and shouting at me. I ignored him, as is my policy in these situations. A few seconds later a pink Cadillac convertible swerved onto the pavement and screeched to a halt forcing me to dive sideways like Dudek going for a tricky corner shot. Said pink Cadillac shortly thereafter decanted Edyta Górniak (or it might have been the other one) onto the pavement from whence she was hustled into Empik to sign CDs or some such nonsense. I regarded her critically from my prone position on the curb and swore never again to tangle with highly-strung divas. I was relatively successful in this policy for the best part of a decade.
There I was, a few weeks ago, innocently pedaling my bicycle along the riverside pathways close to Wawel Castle in Krakow. Policemen in the distance began waving, gesticulating, and shouting at me. I ignored them, as is my policy in these situations. Suddenly a big black Mercedes with tinted windows surged down the path towards me. Quickly surveying my options I chose to veer wildly onto the grass through the POLICE DO NOT CROSS tape rather than face down what I already suspected was another murderous female singing star. And I was right, for it was the mother of all murderous singing stars, the Dion woman herself.
That’s the trouble with the world today, there are so many famous people around you never know when one of them is going to come hurtling towards you in an armoured limousine, pink convertible, or gold-plated tandem. As a non-famous person you’re only hope is to dive sideways and hope to be spared.
The Dion woman wasn’t finished with me yet. That night she screeched “And Ieee Ieee Ieee Ieee Ieee will always love you…” at the top of her lungs through a powerful sound system on Błonia directly through my roof window. I assume she was being ironic.
Shortly after this near-death experience I took a holiday in Barcelona where I managed to avoid homicidal stars completely. On my return I discovered that Krakow has established its very own Walk of Fame (and finally, we get to the point).
The original Walk of Fame is in California and consists of some 2000 five-pointed stars set into the pavement along something called ‘Hollywood and Vine,” which I assume are streets. Krakow’s Walk of Fame is slightly more modest.
Krakow Walk of Fame star 1: Celine Dion
No mention is made of her attempt to snuff out one of the foremost blogging talents in northwest Krakow.
Krakow Walk of Fame star 2: Budka Suflera
I quite like Budka Suflera and, as far as I know, they’ve never tried to kill me.
Krakow Walk of Fame star 3: Errrrm…
Suggestions on a postcard. The semi-geriatric Jamiroquai was here recently, why didn’t they get a star?