My column in The Kerryman. 18 September, 2013
It’s taken me 39 years to work it out, but I finally know what I want to be when I grow up. I want to be famous. Not necessarily world famous like Tom Cruise or the Healy-Raes. I’d settle for locally famous. Famous enough that everyone in Kerry knows who I am and famous enough to be allowed say or do anything I want, yet still be taken seriously.
I realised this was my dream after seeing the response to the jailing of Irish Times columnist and Eurovision Song Contest devotee, John Waters. He was put away for refusing to pay a parking fine. He was 16 minutes late back to his car so he received a ticket. No one likes getting a ticket, or so I’m told, I’ve yet to get one as I really can’t afford to pay fines, so I avoid getting them.
Mister Waters chose to fight the system. He didn’t plead poverty. Instead he called into question the ‘system’ itself. Truly heroic stuff. For this epic struggle he ended up having to serve two whole hours behind bars. Was he lambasted for being a ridiculous crank? Was he attacked for costing the tax payers silly money? Was he dismissed as an arrogant twit? No, he was given acres of newspaper space (and yes I am aware of the irony here) which will further his career and convince him he was right to become a nuisance to the State.
Would someone without a national profile have gotten away with this kind of behaviour? I doubt it. Fame insulates the famous from the reality of their silliness. Former child-star Miley Cyrus caused a bit of controversy last month by spending an inordinate amount of time rubbing her arse against a male performer, at an awards ceremony. It doesn’t make for comfortable viewing, but Ms Cyrus remains convinced that rubbing her behind against people, on television, is a career highlight. Oh to be famous.
That wasn’t even the most cringeworthy thing to happen recently. We had the spectacle of Ivan Yates pleading for martyr status. He’d been forced to live on over 15 times what someone on the dole must survive on, while serving out his UK bankruptcy in Wales. This sick making lack of perspective was made worse by him walking into a well paid, high profile job on national radio. Oh the joy of fame.
So I want to be famous. Not because I want to turn careless arrogance into a virtue. Not because I want to dirty dance with impunity. Not even because I want to live on €3000 a month and call it sacrifice. No, I want to be able to walk my dog down any street in any town in Kerry and have her empty her bowels to her heart’s content. Then I want to just leave her leavings there.
You see my dog is very pretty and often a good looking woman will stop to pet it, giving me the opportunity to flirt. But carrying a bag of dog poo often spoils the mood. If I was famous, I could ignore my duty to society and call it heroic.
So please get onto amazon.com and type in Paul WS Bowler. Make me famous so I no longer need care about any of you. 
