Fight Night

Last summer I was in Paris. My friend and I had a night we’ll never forget.

The bar in Pigalle

had dark blue walls dotted with small silver sequins.
For a second it made me feel I was at the planetarium but
then I remembered we were at a bar. 

Jess and I were the only ones in there, apart from the bartender-
a Mr.Tumnus looking geezer, who maintained a strict:

“No! No drinks aohht-seed!”
policy with us, which was especially jarring considering it was a cruel 34c. 

A Night at Boiler Room

This was my first time at Boiler Room.

If it wasn’t clear enough I asked the person who invited me:

“Where is this Boiler Room event then?”

“At Boiler Room Studios?”

Life After Uni

Even though I’m not a model/activist, I know a thing or two about depression. I mean, I’m sure everyone has experienced it at some point, and if you haven’t, no matter how many times you’ve read ‘The Secret”, you will. (spoiler alert) 

I graduated from Chelsea College of Art this year and I clocked halfway through the course that I didn’t want to be a painter. It wasn’t an epiphanic thing, more that I became increasingly terrified of becoming like Rufus Humphrey (not really having a job but just being around a lot of exposed brick). I’m not slandering artists or saying that they’re all destined to be poor, I just wasn’t loved up enough on painting to pursue it against the odds.