Geri Halliwell (or is it Geri… or Gerry… or Jerry… anyway it’s old Ginger Spice) got married to a guy called Christian Horner. Christian Horner I was vaguely familiar with from odd moments of desoeuvrement where I watched Formula 1 on telly and he got interviewed on the start line before the race. He is the head of Red Bull racing team and always seemed to me to be a very nerdy racing car technician with his talk of horse power and tyre options and pitting strategy. In my mind it looks like two incompatible worlds coming together. As though Ed Milliband had an affair with Lady Gaga or David Backham ran away with that grey haired Classicist off the telly, that Mary Beard woman. I perhaps have a faulty understanding of the media profile of Christian Horner and perhaps underestimated Ginger Spice. In fact, it’s nice to have your notions of who will go with whom undermined now and then. Amongst famous people it’s pretty rare. Depressingly, they tend to find love amongst their own. As though anyone other than an A-list celebrity was beneath them or could offer no possible charm. It often rings false, especially when you compare with quotidian life where I am frequently astounded by who gets together with whom and how it had been going on in secret for seven years under my very nose without me suspecting a thing. I fear I am not the only one who somehow feels that if I have not moved the chesspiece that is another person around on the chessboard of my imagination myself, then that rook will have stayed definitively fixed on its square. But no! These chess pieces are shooting around willy-nilly without me raising a finger. Imagine such a thing! Other people have a life of their own!
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