James Bondage

My old friend James did a shoot here yesterday. He always photographs something…umm…interesting and I wasn’t surprised when two beautiful girls stepped out of his Hummer followed by a couple of stylists dragging Ikea bags full of stilettoes and some unrecognisable scraps of coloured neoprene.

While I made coffee, the stylists unpacked, the models went into hair and make-up and James took a load of pictures of the new dog.

“Latex” said James.

“Lotus” I replied.

“No, Latex. I’m shooting a load of Latex underwear today”

“Nice. What are all the aerosols for? I asked, glancing at an arsenal of canisters lined up on the mantelpiece.

“Lubrication. Makes it easier to slip the bits and pieces on and off. They don’t use talcum powder any more. They use this silicon spray stuff. Apparently it goes everywhere (smiles) but worry ye not, we’ll do all the spraying by the back door.”

“Fine. I’ll leave you to it. Give us a shout if you need anything.”

Brian and I stayed in the basement office most of the day until Joe came home from school and then we headed off to pick up Ed and take him to the theatre.

“Joe, stay down here with the dogs until James and that lot upstairs have gone. Understand? You stay down here. When you hear them leave, go up, let the dogs out into the garden and then check that they haven’t left any food around that they might eat. Got it?”

Brian, Ed and I got back at about 8.30. As we opened the front door a small fat dog came hurtling towards us, spinning across the hall floor like an ice puck. Frantic scratching noises came from the front room: two bewildered whippets were doing impressions of Bambi when he tries to walk on the frozen lake.

“Look, it’s sick!” cries Joe, gliding past in his socks.