Jabba
Wide awake half the night. Finally fell asleep shortly before it was time to get up. Then Calliope infuriatingly bit my hand hard to wake me up, then hid under the bed so I couldn't kill her. Tetchy morning working on the useless brief, which I had to complete before midday. Luckily the client liked the results.
Off like Jabba the Hut to the gym. Cross trainer for half an hour. Home and was phoned up for the 30th time by an Indian call centre. Today they were the 'cheque clearance' department. Lost my rag and swore at them. The man called back shortly for round two. Coming off worse in this, he called me for round three, which I did not answer. The number is always of course withheld.
Beth and Mark came around to discuss Wrong and I took photos of them, which I will treat and redesign into the poster for the play. Also got some dates in the diary for reviews etc. Felt good to have the first project of the year underway.
After they left, and I cooked myself some Quorn-based food then repaired to the Evening Star to have a quick chat with Fingers and Richard Gibson. Slightly joyless, I drank sparkling mineral water with a squeeze of lemon. And I wasn't the only one off the pop. Richard said January was the English Ramadan.
I left after half an hour and, as it had started to rain heavily, within seconds I had been soaked by a white van driving through a puddle. Home to watch footie on TV. Saw Chelsea loose to lowly Wolves, and brooded on the end of civilisation as we know it. As Yeats wrote: The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity. In short, bah to football.
Below: One of the shots of Betty and Mark.
Wide awake half the night. Finally fell asleep shortly before it was time to get up. Then Calliope infuriatingly bit my hand hard to wake me up, then hid under the bed so I couldn't kill her. Tetchy morning working on the useless brief, which I had to complete before midday. Luckily the client liked the results.
Off like Jabba the Hut to the gym. Cross trainer for half an hour. Home and was phoned up for the 30th time by an Indian call centre. Today they were the 'cheque clearance' department. Lost my rag and swore at them. The man called back shortly for round two. Coming off worse in this, he called me for round three, which I did not answer. The number is always of course withheld.
Beth and Mark came around to discuss Wrong and I took photos of them, which I will treat and redesign into the poster for the play. Also got some dates in the diary for reviews etc. Felt good to have the first project of the year underway.
After they left, and I cooked myself some Quorn-based food then repaired to the Evening Star to have a quick chat with Fingers and Richard Gibson. Slightly joyless, I drank sparkling mineral water with a squeeze of lemon. And I wasn't the only one off the pop. Richard said January was the English Ramadan.
I left after half an hour and, as it had started to rain heavily, within seconds I had been soaked by a white van driving through a puddle. Home to watch footie on TV. Saw Chelsea loose to lowly Wolves, and brooded on the end of civilisation as we know it. As Yeats wrote: The best lack all conviction, while the worst/Are full of passionate intensity. In short, bah to football.
Below: One of the shots of Betty and Mark.
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