My inevitable return to web logging has been played out my head repeatedly since a rather fruitful rekindling excursion to the big smoke last Monday (that’s a week last Monday in fact). Such as the reality of life, my documenting attempts do not appear to be as smooth and organised as I originally envisaged, however, the passion to produce an upfront delivery of my musings remains habitually steadfast. I shall be gradually offloading anecdotal snippets from the events not as I encountered them, rather in a similar vein to a patient suffering from alzheimers.
When dipping in and out of London you are lucky enough to be presented with a fresh set of senses, observantly you clock the changes as you are ushered into new venues by your friends in the know, you absorb and revel in their respective successes, a new record released, a gallery launch, a new fashion label booming, a new rather exotic sounding boyfriend and the evolving career monopoly. Gorging off the energy they happily throw at you and all the generous meals they lavish in your honor. In short it makes you feel like life is good. You don’t have to deal with a bullshit that comes with the day to day, for me, as a struggling creative it’s the constant battle for survival. My dreams aren’t of marrying my prince or winning the lottery instead they contain a career ‘sponsor’, born into rich parentage, a wealthy boyfriend or a rather generous old lady with a penchant for working class fashion students, someone capable of removing the financial burden of existence in an industry entirely supported by people working for free for protracted periods of time, in the hope of achieving creative enlightenment. The question –‘How long can I work for free until the job centre comes knocking and wants to know when I’m going to bite the bullet and get a sensible office job? Recites gleefully in my worried little head.
