I’m ashamed to admit that I’ve only managed to photograph 4 models so far this year. Gross underachievement not matched since the long gone days of camera clubs, pre-internet. I still regularly check out the casting calls on the popular modelling websites but nothing catches my eye accept for the increasing number of girls covered in God-awful tattoos. In fact the tattoo situation is now that bad I don’t even notice the piss-poor boob jobs any more. C’est la vie.
The wind down begins, my voluntary severance application was accepted. I was a bit surprised because it is going to cost the company more to pay me off than to let me continue to 65 where I had 95% decided I was going to retire anyway. Rough calculations seem to show my standard of living won’t be much reduced when I become a pensioner, which is great, though that’s ignoring the massive increase in heating bills I’m going to suffer through spending more time at home. So how am I going to fill my hours now? Shit, I’ve got no excuse for putting off those jobs that need doing around the house and garden anymore.
Now no one could ever describe me as being a workaholic, more likely a lazy cunt, but this girl, well that’s a different kettle of fish. She must have worked with every photographer in Europe going by the number of photos you can find of her on the internet. Good luck to her. She’s a crackerjack model and a super person to boot.
The weather looks okay so I decide to walk the long way home from work. My motives are twofold. One, I get some much needed exercise. Two, I might actually see, however unlikely, a girl with modelling potential in the town centre. I should point out that I’m at the stage where very few local females impress me that much but on this trip I spied an attractive lady walking towards me. Interesting I thought. As we approached one another she looked at me with a great big smile and said “Hello Roger”. WTF! My brain went into overdrive because I couldn’t for the life of me recall ever seeing her before. Was she a past model? A friend of a past model? The daughter of a past model? I don’t fucking know! May be she sucked my cock when I was an innocent young lad. Don’t be stupid Big Ears, you would certainly remember an event as rare as that. Going senile ain’t no fun but I’m now going to have to take the long route home on a regular basis and hope I run into her again and put a name and details to the face or I’ll never have any peace of mind.