I don’t know what I expected from this global phenomenon, but it wasn’t the endearing mixture of warmth, wit, intelligence and larky self-knowledge that I found. There were comments she made about her work that I have no doubt she has come out with before – goodness knows, in my own small way I’ve had to do the publicity treadmill and I know how wearing it can be and how the same lines can easily be trotted out. But I was, silly old fool that I am, flattered by the attention she paid to each question and by the cheerful energy, after a long day, that she continued to exhibit.
And it didn’t end there. “Let’s call the photographer back in,” she said, and then proceeded to art-direct the shoot like a professional production designer.
She took a rose from a vase on the table and said gravely to Shamil: “Start shooting after the
count of three, OK?
She sat down on the sofa next to me, tore the petals from the rose, cast them up in the air above us and called out “Three!”
And there we were, Lady Gaga and me, rose petals floating down in front of us.
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