Tuesday, 10 May 2011

Downstairs, Upstairs

John: 'So when are they going then? I wanna chillax'  (without looking up from Family Guy on his laptop).
Joe: 'Innit' (without taking his finger off the trigger as he wipes out another innocent bystander in Grand Theft Auto IV).
Ed: Silence (as he lays on sofa, wearing headphones, watching Come Dine With Me from 2007).
Brian: 'We've got to pay the mortgage.' He rushes past again with two more tightly tied carrier bags dripping water. 'Do you want me to bury him or throw him in the bin?' 
Sucker has just died and B is dismantling the fish tank as that's it. No more fish. Ever.

There comes a point in the evening when you want the Brazilian super-models that have been wandering around the house in their undies all day to get dressed, call a cab and go home.
Private Candy shot their lingerie catalogue here yesterday but due to the models' hair taking an unexpectedly long time to coiffure they were running late, so that meant us all being trapped in the tiny basement office for hours.
They asked us to set up the Venetian bed - see photo of Enzo on said Venetian bed and in your mind replace dog with two models, candelabras, lots of feathers, flowers, fans, fruit, mounds of silk eiderdowns, a champagne bucket and an elaborate arrangement of cup-cakes with glitter icing. It all looked fabulous and they have promised to send me a photo for the blog. 

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