I'M GETTING a bit concerned about my 15 minutes of fame.
You know, the one Andy Warhol promised me.
Or was it John Lennon?
I'm always getting that pair confused.
It doesn't matter who promised it, I'm becoming increasingly worried that my 15 minutes in the spotlight might have happened without me noticing.
Like a Lotto jackpot, the only thing worse than not winning at all is winning a small prize and being told that's the only chance you're going to get.
At least while I'm waiting for my turn, there's always the hope it will be a big one.
My main fear is that I've already had my 15 minutes of fame and it was so mediocre that I wasn't aware it was happening.
What if I'm having it right now? How disappointing would that be?
A bit like finding out the $12 Division 5 Lotto win I collected back in 2008 was as good as it's ever going to get.
My life is perfect but I was promised 15 minutes of fame and I intend to have it.
But the longer I wait, the more I wonder if fame is really that great.
Maybe having piles of money would be better.
Sure, most of us couldn't name the richest person in the world (Mexican Carlos Slim Helu with an estimated $69 billion, by the way) but you would have to have been living under a rock not to know the names Kim Kardashian or Lindsay Lohan. (I didn't say classy, just famous).
It's a toss-up, isn't it?
Rich would be fun but fame can last a whole lot longer.
You can't be rich when you're dead but you can still be famous.
Look what happened to rocker Keith Moon.
He'd been dead since 1978 but still got invited to the London Olympics.
I guess he was rich before he died of the usual rock 'n' roll excesses.
He was certainly famous.
What made it more distressing was that I never got an invitation.
A rich, dead rocker got one by a very much alive, quite likeable and lively Damian Bathersby didn't rate a mention.
So I think, if I'm ever given a choice, I'd have to go with being rich.
Unless my invitation to the Rio Olympics is in the mail on Monday, in which case famous will do me.