Invisible Wife Syndrome
I don't remember the exact moment I realised my husband was famous. Maybe it was when a paparazzo ran backwards snapping at us with a long-lens camera as we took a stroll with our baby. Perhaps it was when the Daily Mail wrote a gushing article about "Prof Cox the Fox". Though when he turned up as a question on University Challenge, I finally had to concede that he'd actually become "one of those people off the telly".
When we first met, I was the expensively groomed television professional, working on mostly science and technology shows, and he was the newly appointed physics academic with a student's wardrobe and a single bed. All that remained of his music days with D:Ream were a few William Hunt suits in his wardrobe and framed backstage passes on his bathroom wall. It may have been my love of the Apollo moon missions or him telling me he worked at Cern, but we instantly struck up a geeky friendship. Together we started writing ambitious documentary ideas with the sole aim of "making science part of popular culture". Fast-forward 10 years and we're a lot closer to our goal, but it's not quite how I imagined it would be.
When Brian first started appearing on TV, he was more of a cult figure than a celebrity. People would occasionally come up to him with a question about black holes or the Higgs boson, having seen him on Horizon or This Morning. The only time he was asked for his autograph was after a talk he'd given in a school, or occasionally at a nerd gathering such as Skeptics In The Pub. Then he presented Wonders Of The Solar System and everything changed.
Wherever we went, people would stare, take photos with their phones or shout his name excitedly from passing cars. The novelty wore off, however, when it began to feel as though people were intruding into more private moments. In Sainsbury's, a couple of giggly middle-aged women ran up and thrust pieces of paper at him to sign. As Brian chatted to them about the physics A-levels their children were taking, I tried surreptitiously to sneak a pack of sanitary pads into our trolley. I needn't have bothered. I could have juggled a few boxes of tampons while whistling the theme tune to The Sky At Night and they still wouldn't have realised I was there.
A few years ago, I started to notice that the more Brian appeared on TV, the less interesting I became to other people. I started to morph from Gia Milinovich, independent woman with her own life and separate bank account, into "Mrs Brian Cox", then into "wife". Pre-fame, I was asked for my opinions; now, I'm asked what Brian thinks. During a discussion recently, someone said to me, "You only think that because your husband is a physicist", as if I am now incapable of my own thoughts. I am in the throes of what Edna Healey, Denis's wife, called Invisible Wife Syndrome.
drive from www.guardian.co.uk
