pop life

Its crispy cold walking down Sloane Street to the flat where the shoot's taking place. I wheel my makeup kit behind me, past Gucci, Chanel and Yves Saint Laurent. At the door, next to Prada i realize i have no idea which number buzzer it is.
Claudia Schiffer comes out of the shop and gets into a waiting car. We smile at each other as she is driven away.

Almost 2 hours later, my 1 is now 5, as we all wait in the lobby for a model who doesn't look like she's gonna show. We each paint vivid scenarios of what could have happened, to pass the time. Finally, in she walks, behind huge black sunglasses, her maid following behind.

Upstairs finally, in her boyfriend's gorgeous apartment, the remnants of what looks like the previous night's banquet litter the kitchen. A pig's trotter attached to the remainder of its carcass is still skewered on its spit.

2 hours more and i find myself rushing through a smokey eye because of the model's time constraints. Settling for passable perfection, i tactfully allow her to go to the bathroom mirror alone, following a minute after, so as to give her time to wipe away the cocaine residue in her left nostril.

Back in the real world, the magazine i worked for in January called and booked me for another fashion shoot at the end of March. Whooopeee!!!
Oh, and the cookies are being phased out, at the least the quadruple chocolate ones, AND i've joined a really nice gym.

listening to Seven Nation Army by Hard-fi
Slowly, Surely by Jill Scott