I have not left the house in days for fear of being recognized and mobbed by paperazti and fans wanting autographs. My food has run out, I am living only off the moisture I can suck from the feet of my cats as they walk in from outside. Fame is a gift wrapped turd and it has hit me square in the face, I have been published in the technology section of the Leicester Mercury:

Is this the highest level of fame that can be achieved through the medium of local newspaper? Perhaps not, I could have been published on the letters page or have had a photo of myself printed as an example of a hooded yob, but whatever, I have found fame and that means I am the best.