Oh dear Allah, not feeling so hot today although my look fucking ROCKS. Leather boots, soft pleated a bit Fletcher Jones skirt, A.P.C. sweater and white collar blouse. So for as prim and proper that I look, just to let you all know I feel like dying inside. Not only that, the shop is cold and damp. I’m freezing.
I’ve ‘enjoyed’ the morning so far by updating websites, working on lameatnames etc etc and it seems that I am not the only one rocked by Internet industry. Mr Chips / Philip Thompson has now started a photo blog with his amazing work. He just keeps getting better and better. Valeria tells me that she wants to move to Jaywick because of his pictures. So please if you are cold and just not feeling it today, you can look at PHILIP THOMPSON’S PHOTOS here.
Pippa has promised that she will come in around 2.30 with a coffee. I swear – instant death if she is late. Struggling to go on. Shit and I just remember some weird dreams from the few hours sleep I had.
Well well well what have we here? This guy is a photographer I met who is still struggling with the Nokia E60 phone that takes 3 minutes to send a text. We spent quite a while discussing 3, texting, cameras etc. He is going to get an E71 because it has a camera. I told him the camera was bullshit cause it was only 3 megapixels but he didn’t seem to mind. He was more thrilled he could take a picture and upload it immediately. Tyrone took the pics for the lastest Doctor Marten’s campaign which I saw every morning on the way to work cause they were on the phone box I walked past, until the “DO YOU KNOW WHAT A DONKEY PUNCH IS?” posters replaced them. He has no body piercings or tattoos, clean even teeth, is 6′3″ at least and a lovely smile, is employed. I don’t know his current relationship status, but this isn’t always important. God, I hope if he ever sees that he realises I’m only being semi serious.
Here is my desk in my office. There is just my desk in my office. And my office is a little room in a bigger room with two offices in it. I walk into my office, sit at my desk, look out the window at the big church, drink my latte [or make a tea if I was running late and didn't have time to stop], wait for my computer to start up, day dream for about two minutes, then work. I love job. I love joke. I love Sex Attack. That is a song. By Appareil.