Rick Astley tenderly ran a hand through his red hair as he watched the news on the telly. The world really was in a spot of trouble, and he felt truly blessed to have had the career that he did. His life was not extravagant, but he lived comfortably off the royalty checks his 14 hit singles, 6 hit albums, and the Greatest Hits collection had earned him. He could have his tea as a man should, in peace, as his father used to say. Rick Astley sat back on his sofa, bit into a biscuit, and watched as the world fell apart.
Rick Astley tenderly ran a hand through his red hair as he stood next to the stove in the kitchen waiting for the water to boil. When he was younger he’d found it impossible to picture a life after the age of 25. He’d always assumed some kind of terrific flame out. But here he was, still, and age suited him fine. He liked puttering around the house. Sure, fame was tremendous. But there was something to be said for the quiet solitude of a life spent puttering. And Rick Astley didn’t always like to admit it, but Rick Astley liked wearing sweatpants. The tea kettle sang. “Ah,” Rick Astley said to his cat. “More tea.”
Rick Astley tenderly ran a hand through his red hair and looked at his face in the mirror. A couple of times a year he would shake the dust off and perform. He’d done a stint of publicity a couple years back for his album of standards. It was good to stay fresh. Rick Astley made faces in the mirror. He looked for food in his teeth. He did miss having to really try. It took some of the fun out. But Rick was smart enough to know how that must sound to anyone still struggling to reach their dreams. “Must never be boastful or proud,” Rick Astley muttered. “Be grateful,” he said quietly. There was no food in Rick Astley’s teeth.
Rick Astley tenderly ran a hand through his red hair and logged onto the internet. It didn’t fit with the pace of his life now, so he kept it to a minimum. Once, twice a week. His manager had insisted that he get an email address, so there was that to tend to. And he did like reading some of the latest news on the news sites. How did they know everything so fast? Rick Astley was only 42 years old, but sometimes he felt like an old man. “Ooh, what’s this now, guvnah?” Rick Astley eagerly clicked on a link that promised to take him to footage of the American candidate for Vice President Sarah Palin promising to Katie Couric that if she were elected she would ‘bomb England back into the bone ages’. Rick Astley sipped some tea. “Ah,” he said. “No. I’ve been bloody me rolled again. ‘Bone ages’ is stupid even for her. I should have probably tipped me off that I was about to get me rolled.”
Rick Astley turned off his computer and went back to his life.