Foz talked so much for the last two days that by the end of Wednesday afternoon his voice was a hoarse croak.
It started off in the morning as a healthy, yet unusually deep baritone but by about 4 ‘o’ clock you could hear it beginning to rasp. At 4:28pm it cracked completely.
“You didn’t bring in any images? *croak* What a… *croak gasp hack* …utter donkey!
We finally ended out marathon crit and he had to start critiquing the new batch of first years. We just stood around watching him attempt to shout but only bleat his way through their sketch book presentations.
He saw us smiling and swore that he would get us next Wednesday.
On Tuesday Foz had given us a brief that he had submitted something for, an illustration for the cover of a Neurology magazine. Yes, a fucking dull brief, but it was our job to make it more interesting [he said]. So Wednesday afternoon, he brought in his own final image to show us.
He said as he opened his laptop laughingly,
“I’m going to get it from you lot. Thats utter shite!, you’ll be saying.”
His explanations for why he did everything were confident and clear BUT THEN, right at the end, he remarked hastily, as he closed the screen.
“Ah don care what you lot think anyway. That was just to give you all an idea”.
Which was surprisingly defensive and sort of vulnerable, and therefore, was also quite funny.
Foz, the terror of St. Martins, scared?!? Of our worthless opinion???