It's not a bad day so I can finish the yellow line painting and put the fag ends in.
So I do.
Being as it's a back alley by the studios where people come for a cigarette, not much happens.
Later in the studios I get carried away and write on it small at first and then bigger. It's taking a while, but I think I'm finally starting to loosen up with the words thing, although I guess they could still me more readable. To make up for the lack of action I am including 3 (yes 3! count them) photos of the same painting.
Also in the studios I go to the loo, because of course this is real life and that's what people do. In the movie of my life I think there will be lots of going to the loo - at least every other scene. And when anyone goes out someone will say, 'does anyone need the loo before we go?' and someone will and they'll go. And farting. In the movie of my life there will be lots of farting. Not necessarily always me.
Anyway, where was I? Going to the loo at the studios. So there I am, in the loo that I've been going in for 5 years, but this time it's different. This time there's a smell. Not a bad smell, but one of those smells that evokes a really strong memory and I'm six or seven years old again and I'm in the cloakroom at my Gran's house. It's a big downstairs loo and I'm lost in the mass of coats that hang on the wall. It's a little bit scary (still me as a 6/7 year old), but kind of comforting at the same time. I love it when that happens - transported by a smell.
Talking of being young, I was reminded the other day that I had never ever in my life eaten a toffee apple. It went straight on to the list of things I have to do before I die and so I ate one and hated it and can't think why anyone would do that to an apple.