I was Kylie?s Food Fluffer

For three days last summer, I was Kylie's food fluffer.

It isn't widely known outside the industry but, towards the end of the
eighties, Kylie had a vocal-cord saving operation that means she no
longer produces enough saliva. She's relied on a round-the-clock roster
of volunteers ever since. But she'd been let down at short notice, so
her agent called me up and asked if I could help out.

'All you have to do is take a little food in your mouth and chew it
till it's nice and moist,' he said. 'Then grab hold of princess's
little head, tilt back till her mouth pops open, break off a pellet,
and dribble it in. Back of the throat. Job done.' It seemed simple
enough so I said I'd give it a go.

She's a wonderful girl - polite, humble and gracious. You don't get
that from most modern starlets. She didn't say too much at first, but
when I'd prised her shell apart a little, she opened up. We'd have a
laugh, maybe hum a few bars together. Strictly professional you
understand. I knew where the line was, and I wouldn't be crossing it.
Still, it was a fun-sized Mars. Best of all, she likes variety in her
food, but doesn't have too much of anything, so I was able to feed my
whole family with the leftovers.

But towards the end of the second week, things became strained. It was
the dogs that did it. In addition to being a popular actress and
musician, Kylie is also one of the world's top breeders. Her passion
for rare breeds - misguided, I felt - had quite swept her away, and the
house was overrun. There was an unpleasant odour. I developed quite a
dislike for a two year old Tosa Ken, and the bitch Xoloitzcuintli. I
didn't say anything though - I'm very discreet, as you know.

It came to a head on Tuesday afternoon. I was chewing up a piece of
steak, rarer than dodo milk, when I heard the dogs scratching at the
parlour door. All the doors in the house were distressed pine, so I
didn't bother too much. I masticated up, slid into position but next
thing I know barks come bounding across the room. So I'm drooling over
Kylie, the Tosa trying to mate with my left leg, the bitch scratching
my behind. And I did something I'm not proud of, not proud of at all. A
little pellet spat straight out of my mouth, grazing Kylie's right
eye.

It mush have smarted, but she hardly flinched at all. She's a
professional in every respect. She just wiped it away, as if people
spit food pellets in her eye every day of the week.

Well I couldn't live with the guilt. No matter how much she calmed me
down, the fact remained. I'd assaulted celebrity. So I said, 'I'm sorry
Kylie, I can't fluff you food any more.' I had to go.

And ever since, it's hard for me to hear her angelic tones without
shedding a single tear, and reaching for my gum.