"She doesn't want to live off-camera, much less talk," he says. "There's nothing to say off-camera. Why would you say something if it's off-camera? What point is there existing?"
I've always remembered that line, even though it had nothing to do with my life whatsoever, as the only person interested in taking my picture at the time was my mum. But somehow it stuck with me, and now, twenty-one years later, it resonates more than ever.
Because yesterday I was at a writer's festival, and two hilariously funny things happened. One took place at a session in which I was in the audience; another took place at a session in which I was on the panel. You would love these anecdotes, I can guarantee it. But I can't tell you anything about thenm because the other people involved in these incidents might read this blog and be embarrassed, and I wouldn't want that at all.
It is killing me that I can't tell you. It's eating away at me as I write. I've told several people - my husband, my mum, five friends, and a teacher at pre-school who didn't seem at all interested - but I can't tell you. I can't blog about it. And that makes me feel deeply frustrated.
So I realise, to my horror, that I am just like Madonna. In fact, to paraphrase the ever-cool Wazza:
I don't want to live off-blog, much less talk. There's nothing to say off-blog. Why would you say something if it's off-blog? What point is there existing?
Can you relate?