Categories > Celebrities > Fall Out Boy > About A Guy
Once safely inside the venue, Guy let out a sigh. He never quite understood why people loved him so much, but he really enjoyed the attention. It was one of the many perks of being a BBC World News reporter, besides all the travel and, most importantly, interviewing some of his favourite bands. He used to dream, when he was a young boy at Eton College, he used to dream of the outside world, the real world, where people didn’t have to wear tailcoats to school; where people were various shapes and sizes and colours, and they were all different, from their hairstyle to their spending habits to their political views. Yes, Guy used to long for the world beyond Eton. And now here he was, in his perfect job. But he sometimes wondered what could’ve happened if he hadn’t followed his parents’ advice…
Back when he had just turned thirteen, the Ripleys sent their son to the most prestigious school in the whole of England, and Guy could hardly wait. The promises of lessons in the Dark Arts, owls bringing the mail and other Harry-Potter style adventures had him raring to go. But once he was there, he realised his parents had played an awful trick on him. The other boys there were selfish and stuck-up, and they walked around with their noses in the air, much to Guy’s dismay. The Dark Arts lessons were really Latin and Maths, and as for owls bringing the mail, well, it wasn’t so much owls as the old postmaster who smelled of turnips. And it was then that his dreams began, where he would break out of the world of stuffy lectures into his colourful imagination, and become a rock star. Or an actor. Or possibly a best-selling author. Something where everyone would love him and take him for what he was…
A small man with short hair came over. He was carrying a heavy camera with both hands, and was therefore trying to hitch up his glasses with nose power alone.
‘Hey, Guy? Food’s ready.’
‘Oh - oh yes. Yes, thank you, Jack.’
Shaking his head free of the memories he followed the camera man to the back rooms for some food, armed with his VIP pass (with a rather attractive photo on the front, or so Guy thought proudly). Although an acclaimed English news reporter, Guy had a weakness for celebrities. Yes, he knew, it was stupid and shallow of him, especially someone of his status, but he just couldn’t help himself. And anyway, the high-fliers he admired were SO much better than the ones splashed across glossy magazines. Especially that William Beckett. The lustrous hair, the smooth voice, the wide variety of jumpers… Although Guy felt nothing of THAT sort for William, he had to admit, it was verging a little on obsessive.
A hand on his shoulder jerked Guy out of his daydreams. It was Jack again.
‘Guy, you done eating? We’re ready for you now. Oh… and, uh…’
He faltered. What was coming next, wondered Guy? Did Jack want him IN FRONT of the cameras for once? Would HE be the one getting the praise? Could HIS dreams of real stardom be coming true at last?
‘You’ve got tomato sauce on your chin.’
Back when he had just turned thirteen, the Ripleys sent their son to the most prestigious school in the whole of England, and Guy could hardly wait. The promises of lessons in the Dark Arts, owls bringing the mail and other Harry-Potter style adventures had him raring to go. But once he was there, he realised his parents had played an awful trick on him. The other boys there were selfish and stuck-up, and they walked around with their noses in the air, much to Guy’s dismay. The Dark Arts lessons were really Latin and Maths, and as for owls bringing the mail, well, it wasn’t so much owls as the old postmaster who smelled of turnips. And it was then that his dreams began, where he would break out of the world of stuffy lectures into his colourful imagination, and become a rock star. Or an actor. Or possibly a best-selling author. Something where everyone would love him and take him for what he was…
A small man with short hair came over. He was carrying a heavy camera with both hands, and was therefore trying to hitch up his glasses with nose power alone.
‘Hey, Guy? Food’s ready.’
‘Oh - oh yes. Yes, thank you, Jack.’
Shaking his head free of the memories he followed the camera man to the back rooms for some food, armed with his VIP pass (with a rather attractive photo on the front, or so Guy thought proudly). Although an acclaimed English news reporter, Guy had a weakness for celebrities. Yes, he knew, it was stupid and shallow of him, especially someone of his status, but he just couldn’t help himself. And anyway, the high-fliers he admired were SO much better than the ones splashed across glossy magazines. Especially that William Beckett. The lustrous hair, the smooth voice, the wide variety of jumpers… Although Guy felt nothing of THAT sort for William, he had to admit, it was verging a little on obsessive.
A hand on his shoulder jerked Guy out of his daydreams. It was Jack again.
‘Guy, you done eating? We’re ready for you now. Oh… and, uh…’
He faltered. What was coming next, wondered Guy? Did Jack want him IN FRONT of the cameras for once? Would HE be the one getting the praise? Could HIS dreams of real stardom be coming true at last?
‘You’ve got tomato sauce on your chin.’
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