‘Today I’m Jerry Hall.’
Brash, brittle, blonde (with an ‘e’. I’ve lived over here long enough.)
Dashing through flashing photographers.
‘Flash!’
‘It’s okay,’ says the man who holds my lives in his folder.
‘It’s okay,’ I tell myself.
Jerry’s okay.
At least she doesn’t tell me to kill anyone.

‘Tell me about yourself, Jerry,’ Folder-man asks.
Easy – what Jerry eats for breakfast, lunch, dinner/what time she gets up, goes to bed/everything between.
Espresso, bagel (some things you never get used to, like tea and toast…); smoked-salmon salad;
salad/seven a.m., ten p.m./feed hens, dogs, kids; shop, read, swim. Date a pop-star. Marry a millionaire.
It’s all there.
She’s all there.
I’m all there. She/me in one of those ‘Life in a Day Of…’; or is it ‘Day in the Life Of…?’
Either way, you know it all. Either way, it’s when Jerry joined the gang. Flicking through a shiny supplement – that’s all it took.

‘Tell me about your Day in the Life Of…’ Folder-man asks next time.
Only it’s not that, is it? It’s ‘Day in the Lives…’ as he well knows. I’ve never seen that in any slick magazine. Not enough pages, are there?
Six-year old Janey and her boiled-egg soldiers; Sara, fifteen, granola; middle-aged Mario and his fry-up (shopping’s a nightmare!)/School-time, work-time, stay-at-home/Lessons, work, lounging. So many ways to get through a day, a life. So many lives to get through.
And those are just the good ones…

Today she’s Jerry Hall. He’s glad. It could be much worse.