The past few days I’ve been having more sublime to the ridiculous-style fun.
On Friday of last week I was in Brighton. Not to party, but to visit a homelessness project for an article I’d been commissioned to write. I went out with a team from Off the Fence giving out cheese and pickle sandwiches (my absolute favourite) and coffee. Meeting those guys couldn’t have been further away from what I’d done the night before.
I’d been at the opening night of the London Design Festival – picked up in a chauffeur-driven A8, constantly topped up with champagne, fed a beautiful three course meal at Corrigans, driven home. I felt like I was in an episode of Jim’ll Fix It, but without the gold jewellery, bad tracksuits and slightly inappropriate touching. Or like Mr Big from Sex and the City cruising around the city late at night in a flash car. Only I’m a girl, so it’s a bit backwards.
Whatever, at the drinks party I met some lovely people who I only discovered after the event were for the most part editors of some highly successful design magazines. Am I glad I didn’t know when I launched into a story of how a journalist from a tabloid newspaper asked me at a car launch if I was a prostitute? I think so… I wouldn’t have said a word if I’d have known, although I sort of wish that wasn’t the story I had chosen to tell with hindsight.
Regardless, being able to say I’d met them the next day in the office was quite gratifying. It’s almost as if, when you’re in the presence of someone with a reputation or who is renowned for something, their glory rubs off a bit onto you by association. Because I’d met these people, I was more special.
But I’d like to think I was the same person to them as I was with the rough sleepers. I hope.
(Which leads me to a brief interlude of a spurious claim to fame. My sister was on the X Factor on Saturday. Sadly not performing (though she is an excellent singer/musician/performer in her own right) but raising an eyebrow of approval at Aiden Grimshaw)
All the glamour and glitz was for a design installation using Audi robots in Trafalgar Square called Outrace. You could submit a message and the robots would write it in lights in the sky for you.
If you could write one message in the sky, would you put your own name in lights? Or someone else’s?