The photoshoot for the Major Irish Telecommunc*tions company took place in a windowless warehouse in the Liberties last Thursday. It was quite the eye-opener. For one thing, the reason models look so good? they put the make-up on with an airbrush. That's right, punters. It's spraaaayed on, like a mask.
(Hah! amusing moment: the boss of the consultancy co that is subcontracting me in to do this job, Eve (let's call her) had "reminded" me that I was there as part of the [Consultancy's name] Team. Ha. She must have led them to believe that I am her employee rather than a mere freelancer. So I was all primed to say: I'm here for [Consultancy's name] - to the extent that when they opened the door to us, I kept saying I'm here for [..], I'm here for [..]. I am sure I made a great impression. The client from Major Irish Telecommunc*tions company was also present. A friendly round-faced blonde in culottes, and curious, as it turned out:
So how long have you been in [Consultancy's name]?
me: Errrrr. Not long! (Pause) I err.. just when they..
Client: Oh! you're freeeeeeeeeeelance!
me: Well... yes.
Client: Your office are so handy aren't they?
[Thinking: are they? Never been in them, myself.]
Hah! I mean, ooops. And if that wasn't enough, Adwoman (another of the too many chefs - this time from an Ad agency. Tis a complex anthill this subcontracting world) greeting me, says: thanks so much for coming in! I know you had another job on, they had to take you off it.
me: Eh? no. It's fine!
During the long and drawn-out shoot itself, various actors were required to look dopey and knowing according to stereotype. The attention to detail was a little dispiriting. All that creative (and might I say, competitive) energy poured into what was going to be a tiny bitmapped image on the internet - and in the service of making money for Major Irish Telecommunc*tions company. Not the most noble cause after all. It was mildy diverting though, to have a little look at that hard industry and then run off back to my normal low-powered life, where it is completely acceptable to wear one's dressing gown until noon, entertain oneself with funny walks during the afternoon and have tea breaks so frequent they are practically continual.
I am truly grateful for being in a position to work for myself. I am a humane and understanding boss to myself. Mostly.
Speaking of my work, I am at an exciting breakthrough phase, with the alternative energy sources and exploration of memory. Just as well, for our external looms. I have also done a lot of work on The Laundrette animation. So I will have stuff to show and hope to be surfing on the wave of enthusiasm at the right moment.
I am actually flicking through channels on the telly as I type this. That is what they call media stacking, and it is bad for the brain, I have no doubt. I am so millenial.
Today was amazingly warm. There was a heavy bumble bee lurching drunkenly around my folks' conservatory, from hyacinth to hyacinth.
Last night wore me out. There was a ex-Simon Friday night S*up Runners reunion in a pub in town. In an unprecedented move, Twangy behaved like quite the social butterfly and stayed Until Closing Time. Mad, eh?
I was plied with drink, in the eternal battle for moral superiority that is the Irish Round System. I fear to say I lost the battle this time, again. Not quick enough with the wallet, alas, and as my punishment I must now not rest until I hunt down the drink pushers (Pa*l, and Bar, huh!) and pay get them back in measures of alcohol AND, ideally, leave them feeling as indebted as I do now.
I take my mission very seriously. I will find them and ply them with drink on their death beds if necessary.
More on this later. The three wines I nearly drank all of with a chaser of Bur*ger King chips (which have nothing to do with potatoes, btw, and speaking of which, what they don't see in that family *restaurant* at 2am on Saturday.. words fail me) have caught up with me. I feel a bit feeble and husk-like.
Un-like a tiger.