I sit munching popcorn watching the credits for My Name is Earl run across the screen. I have an uneasy feeling in my stomach. It gargles, gurgles and churns. I feel sick. I put this down to my imminent embarassment in front of an audience of drunks returning from pubs yet to embrace our new licensing laws.

(Recap for new readers / people to lazy to read the previous post: I could be appearing on Channel 4's "The Friday Night Project" as a look-a-like for Clown / Footballer / Mirror Cracker Peter Crouch. Although it was actually last week's show - I deliberatley delayed this post for a week - so as not to jeopardise my Secret Identity. No need to waste your time watching it tonight!)

Although, my sickness could've been from the popcorn. I can never remember if I prefer salted or sweet popcorn. Whichever I do actually prefer, it is the opposite to the one I bought.

I sit and I watch. I remember seeing Alan Carr doing stand-up. He was very funny. It's a shame he's been reduced to doing TV work. And such badly scripted TV work too. I remember him telling us that Tesco are opening a new store in Moss Side - it's going to be called "Tesco Ghetto" and the cashiers are gonna say "Pack your own bags, muddafuka."

And then "my bit" comes on.
I'm regretting telling my friends and family about it now.
I watch intently.
Hmmm, that one's good, oooh look there's BHS, that one's not so good, that is actually Jimmy Hill not a look-a-like!

As quickly as my rise to fame began, it ends. I have an empty feeling. The segment ends and I wasn't on the telly. I do not know what to feel. I didn't want to be on but it would've been cool if I was on. I could've got my family to shout out "Oooh, look isn't that him from the telly." every time they saw me. But then I would've got workmates laughing at me and comparing me to someone who hit every branch on the ugly tree when he fell out of it.

Without even being on TV, I have felt the highs and the lows of being a celebrity. Now I understand how Michael Barrymore must feel.