Mystery Illness

“I'm a celebrity, with depression, anorexia
And a mystery illness which should make me even sexier
Celebrity, with superficial grace
Always wearing this mask, that eats the face”

From I’m a Celebrity by Martyn Joseph & Stewart Henderson

Those that read my last entry will know that I had been referred for a series of blood test because I was suffering from chronic fatigue and an overwhelming desire to eat my own body weight in chocolate.

I have now had my diagnosis and apparently I have ‘Graves’ Disease’.

Having the word ‘disease’ associated with you is never a pleasant experience, but add the word ‘Grave’ to it and I began to feel extremely uncomfortable.

This growing feeling of dread was not helped by a good friend who looked up the condition on Wikipedia and announce triumphantly that I have a condition that is normally associated with teenage girls.
This might explain my tendency to flounce and to go all duey eyed over Justin Bieber posters but it is not something that I want broadcasted abroad.
Eager to find a common link with other rock stars who may have suffered the same fate as me and find just a modicum of credibility I typed the word ‘celebrity’ with ‘Graves Disease’ into Google. I was mortified to discover that although the list was long I had hardly heard of any of them. Most had died over 150 years ago, there was an actress or two that I am sure are famous from the village they originated from, an Australian folk singer I was blissfully unaware of…and….George W Bush senior!!
Well that explains it all!!

It was suggested that in order to maintain rock & roll credibility I should lie and just say that I am suffering from the ravages of a major heroin addiction but as EVERYBODY who knows me is aware that my narcotic of choice is red and comes in a 75 cl bottle, preferably from the New World, the addiction claim probably wouldn’t wash.
I could always go down the modern celebrity approach and be extremely coy about a ‘mystery illness’. This seems to have worked well for Cheryl Cole although you can over play it like Kerry Katona and become so unemployable that you even lose your job at Iceland (if you are reading this over seas, Iceland is a frozen food retailer which specializes in selling food that is so cheap that there is probably more nutrition in the box the food is sold in than the food itself).

So I may have to take it on the chin and either keep my gob well and truly shut or admit that I have an illness that lends more to excitable teenager crushes on pubescent boy bands and prolific text messaging than it does to a man of my more distinguished years.

As long as I don’t end up looking like Keith Richard I may just get away with it.


I’m a celebrity, tousled and vivacious
I’m a celebrity, publicity voracious
I’m a celebrity, a midiocre icon
I’m adorable, especially when the mic’s onCelebrity, with a pre-nuptial arrangement
To be followed by a photo-spread estrangement
Fashionably turned out
Immaculately churned out
Rehab ripe and burned out
On a short lease destiny
Magazine confessional
Vulnerably obsessional
An emotional professional
Renowned for being me, me, me
I’m a celebrity, a surface raconteur
I’m a celebrity, RSVP’s everywhere
I’m a celebrity, attending acting classes
I’m a lap dog, a poodle for the masses
Celebrity, with injected lips that pout
I am a spiritual, with a cook-book coming out
I’m a celebrity, every word is true
I’m a celebrity, misquote me and I’ll sue
I’m a celebrity, with depression, anorexia
And a mystery illness which should make me even sexier
Celebrity, with superficial grace
Always wearing this mask, that eats the face
Fashionably turned out
Immaculately churned out
Rehab ripe and burned out
On a short lease destiny
Magazine confessional
Vulnerably obsessional
An emotional professional
Renowned for being me, me, me
Celebrity