AND f inally

THERE ’ LL BE NO STOPPING HIM NOW! ANTHONY MARTIN BELIEVES HE IS DUE TO HAVE ‘ HIS PEOPLE ’ DEAL WITH THINGS FOR HIM, WHILE THE EDITOR BELIEVES HE IS DUE TO DELIVER COPY ON THE AGREED DATE AND TIME. NO EXCUSES

IHAVE GIVEN a lot of thought as to what I plan to write this month. It was going to be on The Gender Issue, but the editor said no. The beginning of the tourist season, but the editor again said no. Possibly weather forecasting, as we had to cancel a long-planned break-away because of those forecasters who seemingly don’t have the faintest idea, or the right equipment, predicted solid rain, thunder-storms, lightning and a bit of a chill. Out went four days in the upper Alentejo. As it happens, it did rain on one of the four days in question – for around a whole 45 minutes in the early hours of the morning.

Just how do they get it so wrong, and so wrong so often? But yet again, the editor’s blue pencil has been busy.

However, I must write something because I now have a fan. Yes really, someone who picks up the magazine and reads this page first. And, as they wrote specifically to tell me so, I cannot let them down, otherwise they will open the magazine, turn to the back page and fail to find me there.

I must admit that I am seriously chuffed at having said fan. I feel a foot taller and walk with, dare I say it, a slight swagger in my step. All that agonising what to say and the constantly sharpening of my HBs have paid off, as I now have a reader who has justified my scribbling of the past three years, four months and some weeks. To you, I give my sincere thanks.

Occasionally I receive an email from my wife (by conversing in this manner we avoid the “I didn’t say that” scenario) telling me that the irrigation isn’t working, or the garage is a mess, or a goat is chewing the pool cover.

I reply immediately with the excuse that I can’t do anything about it as I am writing my column for Algarve Plus. This, coupled with the fact that she is a fervent follower of this magazine, immediately allows it to take precedence, which is great for me as it gets me off the hook, allowing me to keep my hands clean and negates my later necessary usage of antiinflammatories. But perhaps it’s not great for the house.

However, be that as it may, I am now majorly puzzled, for I, never having been a die-hard fan of anyone – okay perhaps I had a geriatric crush on Michelle Pfeiffer –nor the recipient of admiration, am now in a quandary.

What am I supposed to do? Do I have postcard-sized photographs made up ready for my signature, or is this a little premature, as I presently only need one?

Do I keep a huge man at my shoulder, to fend off others when picking up my chicken and chips? Do I need an agent, a manager, a diary person and a gofer?

As I understand it, all the above bods are collectively referred to as ‘my people’ and are vital to the well-being of we persons in the public eye, as occasionally it may be necessary, when asked to unveil a statue, or open a village fête or launch a ship, for one to be able to say: “I will get my people to speak to your people.”

And do not, please, equate fans with social media followers. Fans will choose to queue in the pouring rain for a glimpse of their favourite hero or heroine. They would not sit back in the comfort of their home clicking ‘like’ on their mobile phones.

Fans are to be revered, and if we are lucky enough to be the chosen subject and followed by fans (or in my case, a fan) then we have a responsibility not to let them down.

We must behave in the proper fashion. Their names can’t be bought by the thousand (as social media followers sometimes are). Fans are grown organically, over time, over many years, just look at yours truly... three years, four months and some weeks to get a foot on the ladder and obtain one fan.

That said, however, I think I’ll be holding back on ordering the photographs. At least for now.