Nostalgia, what would we do without it. I’ve been digging around on iTunes again and couldn’t resist downloading a couple of my old favourites, Groundhogs Cherry Red, the live 1972 version, and Jefferson Airplane Wooden Ships. Completely different styles but both songs seem to have stuck with me over the years. Cherry Red is very similar to my all time favourite, Edgar Broughton Band Momma’s Reward, full speed ahead and take no prisoners, whereas Wooden Ships is more peace and love. I’ve still got a few pence credit on iTunes so no doubt I’ll be back there looking for other old tracks to assist with my reminisces of the good old days.
This is the second part of the set I couldn’t be arsed to fully edit last month. Hope you found the wait worthwhile.
Not much is happening here at the Chateau de Vaughan. Well I’m waiting for Le Tour de France to pass my front door.
I get a phone call from the local agent telling me he is interviewing a new model and would I like to photograph her while she’s in Rugby. I of course ask what she looks like and he gives me a vague description which sounds similar to the model in a photo I had just received from another agent in London. A good sign, this girl is keen enough to be doing the rounds. Well she’s already here so no travel expenses and this agent has never sold me a dud so I give the okay. She is delivered to my front door but with 3 “minor” problems. She spent the night sleeping on the floor, she only has the clothes she is standing in, she doesn’t speak a word of English! This is going to be an interesting session methinks. I give a visual demo of the poses I’m after, she bursts out laughing, she obviously thinks I would make a great model, I hand her the toys and off she goes and produces the goods. That just about sums up my early experiences of working with Eastern European models, there never was any drama, they just got on with it, and no tattoos or boob jobs either. Nowadays I’m told it’s not the same. They have picked up the same bad habits as the local lasses. It was to be expected, the western lifestyle corrupts the innocents.
I’m knackered. Dealing with the aftermath of a family death is like tackling an assault course and I’m finding I’m just not fit enough to handle it. My attempt at having a chill-out and forget it all evening in front of the computer with pizza failed when my oven blew up. Typical, it’s only 31 years old! Luckily I have managed to buy and fit a replacement element so may be I’ll have the pizza tonight while working on the next update.