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Yeah, I'm walking through the airport, I'm walking through the street, I'm driving in my car, people just start screaming at me - 'YEEEAAAHHH!'
A few years ago I was at a party and this guy threw me over his shoulder, ran across the street, put me in his car, and stuck his tongue in my mouth.
I went to lunch at the Ivy. People started running across the street, and one guy almost got hit by a car. I started to freak out. That put me into hiding for three weeks. I didn't leave the house.
A paparazzo once jumped out of a car and started running backward with me. I slowed down out of courtesy because she started drifting into the street. I reached out my hand and moved her back so she didn't get hit by a bus.
I haven't really had any experiences, as far as having paparazzi sit outside of my house or following me around on the street. But, I actually don't really go to places where they do that, unless they knew where I lived or what kind of car I drive.
I hate the hand that comes out of a car and just drops litter in the street. I hate that! For some reason, it just fills me with fury! It's just utter laziness, lack of interest in other people, lack of interest in the planet, in the hedgehog who might eat the plastic bag, it's a lack of concern.
I went to pick my son up from school and walked him back and was in the house preparing dinner, and he came in the house and gave me this flower of chrysanthemum that was full of ants. And he went back out to play and ran out into the street and got hit by a car. The car happened to be driven by a LAPD detective.
My uncle was the first brown person to have a market stall on Petticoat Lane in the 1960s. He worked his way up from the street. He was homeless, but eventually he got a car so he could sell from the boot. And by the 1980s, he was a millionaire wholesaling to companies like Topshop. So in a way, fashion put me in England.