Fame is a funny thing. All adulation, praise and worship on the way up. The famous can feel untouchable at their peak. But only graciousness, modesty and acceptance can save them on the way down. For the descent is rough and destructive.

            As the fame disintegrates into being a simple occasionally-known personality, you can be sure that a mental roulette will be played, any outcome possible.

            Many a superstar has succumbed to the pressures of trying to maintain the public’s interest in them when it simply isn’t there. Drink, depression, drugs, divorce, even suicide. Much has been the result from the fall from grace, but little has been documented. Only titbits of information are leaked to the publics ears, much of it distorted by the sequence of Chinese whispers leading from event to witness to news distributor; the masses of spin doctors twisting each segment into their own monster for their own gain.

            The reality of fame is a succession of advantages and disadvantages, each hugely influencing. But the only thing that matters in the end is the fame, and being that precious star.

Marcus King is such a star, but a star in decline. In a gradual free fall for months, Marcus is in that disorientating transition stage where he can’t understand where the interest in him is going to. He feels, no, he knows that he can make right the backing and money behind him, and once again pull in that major crowd. But as they say, the only way to go from the top is down. Marcus just doesn’t realize it yet.

Sitting in the enormous front room of his Epping mansion, Marcus gulps down the last inch of scotch as though it is fresh still mineral water. The tolerance comes from practise, and lots of it.

            Idly he jabs aimlessly at the buttons of his Sky remote control, Discovery, MTV, History, Paramount, E4, the images skip past as a random collage, none interesting enough to hold his attention. Until that is, he falls upon the cartoon adventures of The X-Men, on one of the plethora of children’s channels out there. Those crazy mutants, they always seem to be on the wrong end of a beating from other mutants with powers greater than their own. It’s weird how even though you are aged 37, the antics of fictional superheroes in animated format can still enthral, while the adult droning of grown up topics can completely turn you off. We all still have that child inside of us, wanting to run amok in fantasy while leaving reality far behind. It is also an innate mental defence mechanism, one used by the brain when the pressures of normal life become heavy and burdensome. It doesn’t mean that this mind is lazy, in fact, it points to a conclusion that this mind is alive and powerful, able to transport to wonderful places.