Wednesday morning Gina and I woke up at 8.15, with about 20mins to get ready and get our asses on the tube to work.
We laughed because it fully looked like I was giving this old bloke a lap dance as I held a pole and struggled not to fall on him at rush hour.
We’re now working on another brief for a new client- it’s all about body building and exercise. Trouble is, I do as much exercise as the pope dresses up for Halloween as a cheeky lil’ devil. So no, I don’t exercise. Maybe the pope does do a bit of fancy dress. Who knows? He probably eats special K and moans about the post office opening hours. No he definitely doesn’t. He’s god’s right hand man (if you’re Catholic, which I’m not (shock shock Jenn you seem so culturally aware)) and post offices and special K probs aren’t in his prayers to the Lord almighty himself.
I really badly want a peanut butter KitKat and dunno how to stop this craving, other than buy one then feel greedy and resentful of the empty wrapper.
Thursday morning we met up with Rhys at 8am and went to the breakfast club. It was very good. The menu was so diverse and full of delightful twists on traditional favourites. I had a sausage sandwich. There’s some photos up yonder ^
We’re making cocktails in the office for everyone on Friday. Jo said to make a list of stuff we need.
It’s now Friday.
Last night G and I were the photographers for Fiona Paxton’s jewellery launch at Pitfield London. We once again schmoozed with people who have more money in their pockets than we do in our banks, combined. However, it was great, the tequila was flowing, and I ate pasta on toast for dinner afterwards. I give birth to my carb baby soon. Baby shower is next week, bring bread, cake and gnocchi.
There’s some pictures of the event here for ya. Look at me networking away, enjoying free cocktails. And there’s Ginny, look very professional.
Today we went to Byron Burger in Soho with Adam to discuss protein shakes. What are you talking about Crothers? Well we’re working on a brief for a protein shaky muscley worky manly drink company. (Y’know, one of those.) And our boss thought it’d be nice to go for a burger with Adam and discuss stuff. Isn’t that nice? How nice. Everything’s nice. Talking of nice I remember being in Middle School and my teacher called Mrs. Barwick was teaching us to write more creatively and therefore banned the word ‘nice’ and I had some ‘Nice’ biscuits in my lunchbox, which fall under the category of ‘category norm’ (a term coined from selling nappy rash prevention cream) (where’s this sentence going? Read back, make sense of it then join back in **HERE** (makes it easier to find where you left off.)) lunch box biscuits. You pronounce it like the town (village, city, shire?) in France (knowledge evades me at regular intervals in my blog, you may have noticed this by now). THE POINT IS, I thought it would be really funny to be like, ‘hey, I’m eating NICE biscuits, ha ha ha’ (a witty observation for a 10 year old) and the horrid woman told me to shut up. So damn you Mrs. Barwick. She looked like the secretary out of monster’s inc. with the raspy voice. Raspy and raspberries are very different. How saddening.
TONIGHT we’re having some cheeky cocktails in the office. They’re cheeky because they are. Anything can be cheeky. Cheeky pen, cheeky Gina, cheeky cup, cheeky office, cheeky cheeks.It just means you can say it and make it sound unimposing, as thus, ‘hey do you mind if I do a cheeky poo in your mouth?’ See? Nobody minds, cos it’s cheekayyy.