Weary

[smokingboot]

They changed things at my work.

I used to have three shows clumped together then a gap then another three etc; now I've just finished a five show run, evening evening day breakfast evening. I have warned them that if they give me an evening show (ends at 3 am back to flat for 4 am) together with a morning shift (up at 6.30 for brief at 8.30) I won't actually take the taxi home, I'll just sleep in the studio. They seemed to like that idea until they realised I wouldn't be camping out in a thong, mascara and Hello Kitty handcuffs; visions of me in a Sandra Dee nightdress with curlers in my hair seem to have curbed their enthusiasm. I'm rubbish on the breakfast show anyway, sitting there looking like a cadaver with half a croissant in its mouth.

Sleeping badly, eating badly, currently covered in spots. Appear to be doing well, but want to go home and create. The heat and rain has turned Great Portland Street's environs into a tropical paradise for rats: over the last week, London town's fattest and finest have grown bolder, scurrying drainwards in the heat of the afternoon.

Maybe our management should give them jobs, as exhaustion has stretched the human staff to the point of hysteria. Last night, our producer, in despair at his love life, mooned us while we were on air. A fine sight, in his ensemble of scarlet underpants with white lining, matching his black, white and red sneakers matching his white t-shirt with red revolver and black revolver shadow. Apparently he gets bored at home. Buttocks? reputedly fine though I couldn't be certain. I was too busy staring cross-eyed down the lens to check.

I hope it was the lens.

Oh angels sweet and demons deep
And fairies dire and kind
Come visit me and bring me sleep
Before I lose my mind.

Comments

[half-orc.livejournal.com]

Colour me flabbergasted!

Who get's their arse out? Drunk lads and 12 year olds on a school bus and the drunk lads would get arrested.

To do so in a work situation is just ... I don't know. This is not anywhere close to normal work practise. If the company layed you off at anytime in the next few years I'm sure you would have solid grounds for sexual harrasment.

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Well, in truth, that story is greater in the telling than in the doing. The buttock revelation was a mere showing of a delectable bum shape in scarlet (he likes colourful underwear, last time he had the colours of the Swedish flag all over his nethers) and a touch of arse crack bringing about frenzied cheers from the gallery, a demand from the girls that he give it up and show everything, and slightly more muted interest from from the boys at which point he blushed and ran off.

I of course, missed all the good bits while trying to do my job. Normal work practice? I don't think I've ever come across any of that stuff...

[ravenrigan.livejournal.com]

Your work sounds madder than mine at the moment. And you KNOW what I do for a living (though having said that, it's been surprisingly sane (toudch wood) recently, either that or I am growing accustomed to the insanity.

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Oh yes, we do insanity. Right now heat and fatigue is getting to everyone, and the place, normally testosterone/oestrogen heavy, is baking with people confusedly craving sex and sleep in some weird dolly mixture combination.

[mrtonylee.livejournal.com]

By pure chance while channel surfing a couple of nights back I found you on my TV.

It was a surreal experience :-)

Surreal?

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

More so in front of the camera I promise you:-D

[bytepilot.livejournal.com]

The rats carry messages from one side of London to the other.
They are hard workers but get distracted easily by the sound of a softly played lute or the recitation of heartfelt poetry.

When last seen your mind was on the far end of the left hand sofa in your living room, a pussycat was curled around it guarding it with sharp paws after a long and tiring hunt.

Even in a nightdress and curlers you would still be the Ever Lovely Boot.

My mind, the rats, the nightie

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Then I shall leave it in the guardianship of the pussycat. At least it is safe (ish) there...

Ah, happy rats! Their distractions are many right now, and their messages mighty, for they cannot be contained by the sewer system. Though they love to dance, they cannot, nor is it their four footed status preventing them, more the size of their enormous guts. They eat well, too well, in this city!

Others do not agree with you re the nightie, even those gothic romantic ones in white lace - the sort of thing the heroine always wears as she is being pursued through the castle by it. But your charm, as ever, makes every image magical:-)

Re: My mind, the rats, the nightie

[bytepilot.livejournal.com]

There are many messages for the rats, and much work to be done. A change of government above means much manouvering for position below.
Who will control the tube system during the hours of darkness, which of the twilight dancers will be granted hunting rights within sight of the dome of St. Pauls, and whether the Thames will be considered neutral ground or remain the dominion of the nether deeps.

Darling boot, sweet girl wandering the labyrinth of my dreams* it matters little whether the nightie you wear is a flimsy diaphanous gauze or the stoutest of calico. 'Tis the wonderous knowledge that within your wrappings of layered fabric you, so much more than other people, are entirely naked.

*The thread you trail behind you is tied with many knots. Skilled practioners close their eyes and by touch read each knot as a word or symbol. The stories they reveal are disturbing to say the least.

Re: My mind, the rats, the nightie

[smokingboot.livejournal.com]

Disturbing but they continue to read. Did you know that some claim the little knot unravels the greater labyrinth by parrallel? Mad inspired fools!

Re: My mind, the rats, the nightie

[bytepilot.livejournal.com]

But if the knots are unraveled people don't get to hear the next part of the story.