I guess it's a bit like getting published. People often ask me how easy is it to get published. I tell them that it's very easy. All you do is get famous, and the rest is easy.
Okay, so Zara wouldn't mind getting a Clooney. Until a year ago she barely knew who the man was because she's your average BBC watcher type - read that as she's not really big on the Ocean's eleven to 9,000. But there are a few avatars in her critique group sporting his picture like a crusader flag, and the man's simply grown on her. So from a simple word looney, with a simple 'c' stuck on the front of it spells, delightfully, deliciously, downright and any other word such as a-dorable.
So how do I go about getting myself a Clooney. Easy peasy. I just do a Paris Hilton.
You see? I don't have to do much to get there. Just wear skirts that I can barely wipe my nose with. Appear frequently at anything - even the opening of a postage stamp - speed a little and cry a little at the judge - works a treat. Fame for the sake of fame. And once I'm famous:
Hillary Clinton wants me to help her get elected.
The organisers of the Melbourne Cup, the Logies (television awards), Australian Idol, want me to do a Pamela Anderson...
mmmm I could always do a Pamela Anderson. Big patootas. Botox my lips so that I'd compete with Mick Jagger and if I ran into a window I'd be in danger of remaining there under suction for the rest of my days. But then who'd want to be Pamela Anderson.
Or... Clooney Clooney Clooney ... I could do something sneaky like... Disguise myself as Alishandra when she's out shopping in the Xmas sales and when one of the other girls come in, Heidi, Holly, Lea, EJ, Cheryl, Judy and pays me $250 thousand big ones, I get my Clooney yay!