"As she entered the cinema in Leicester Square, the chorus of boos rang out."
The other year I was on a gig at the Capital Radio building for six months, in an office on the Leicester Square side overlooking the area where the red carpet is laid out for premieres at the Odeon.
The usual thing is that the celebs rock up in their limos, getting dropped off just in front of the place where the paps are penned in. After working their way down that line striking a few poses (move on one pace, strike pose, one pace, strike pose... it's bizarre to watch from directly above) they then work their way around the barriers where the great unwashed are penned in, smiling all the time and shaking the occasional hand.
After up to an hour of that they may further spend some time working their way along the pen containing the TV crews, answering the same question the same way a dozen times or so; and thus they finally make it to the door of the cinema, where they give the crowd a final wave (if the cameras are still on them) and go inside.
If there are adoring fans who haven't seen enough, or who for some reason have missed out on the chance to shake hands, they utter cries of disappointment as the object of their unreasoning fascination disappears within.
If you're a showbiz journalist, and for some reason a celeb is out of favour with your editor at the moment, then all you have to do is ignore the ninety minutes or so leading up to this point, and conceal the spirit that motivates the sounds the crowd makes; and you have your story:
"As she entered the cinema in Leicester Square, the chorus of boos rang out."
Easy
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