Chalking-in the sunshine
Walked through Soho this morning, as it shook off its late night sleepiness under a sunny sky, on the way to a rival agency for a creative directors' conference with our mutual clients. In the meeting I bumped into an old friend called Phil Morley who I've only seen once or twice since going to his punishing stag weekend in Barcelona some years ago. Barcelona I remember as an exciting but rather blurry place. Turns out Phil's got his own small agency now, not to mention two little girls.
Then I took a short stroll through town, and noticed for no particular reason a pavement artist on his knees chalking a cyan arc to begin a picture near the National Portrait Gallery. Made me wonder if the rainy summer had interfered with his trade, and I thought that most of the blue skies he will have seen were the ones he'd chalked on paving slabs.
Then off to Glamoursmith for a lively and trying afternoon of work.
Met up with Mad Dog in the evening, who needed an emergency beer in the Auberge in Waterloo. There I bumped into Jane, an ex-colleague I'd not seen for seven years. After a couple of beers Bob and I went off to find a curry house where we had a decent feed and enjoyably discussed the rubbishness of conceptual art, before leaving for home sensibly early.
Sleepily listening to Dune on my iPod. Not read the book since I was about 15, and it really stands up.
Walked through Soho this morning, as it shook off its late night sleepiness under a sunny sky, on the way to a rival agency for a creative directors' conference with our mutual clients. In the meeting I bumped into an old friend called Phil Morley who I've only seen once or twice since going to his punishing stag weekend in Barcelona some years ago. Barcelona I remember as an exciting but rather blurry place. Turns out Phil's got his own small agency now, not to mention two little girls.
Then I took a short stroll through town, and noticed for no particular reason a pavement artist on his knees chalking a cyan arc to begin a picture near the National Portrait Gallery. Made me wonder if the rainy summer had interfered with his trade, and I thought that most of the blue skies he will have seen were the ones he'd chalked on paving slabs.
Then off to Glamoursmith for a lively and trying afternoon of work.
Met up with Mad Dog in the evening, who needed an emergency beer in the Auberge in Waterloo. There I bumped into Jane, an ex-colleague I'd not seen for seven years. After a couple of beers Bob and I went off to find a curry house where we had a decent feed and enjoyably discussed the rubbishness of conceptual art, before leaving for home sensibly early.
Sleepily listening to Dune on my iPod. Not read the book since I was about 15, and it really stands up.
Below the pavement artist.
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