Squabbling over the loo early in the morning. Territorial snapping and flared tempers.
Both of us unforgiving. Me for being told if I did so and so I would be discarded, the ex for being told that kind of statement was unnecessary and upsetting. Having no keys of my own, am forced to leave excessively early.
What day is it? Monday? Tuesday? Wednesday. Security guard refuses me entry. Sit on the steps sleepy with hot chocolate and bag of lychees.
Am joined by Foz only to be shortly and rudely moved by some obnoxious asshole. We both smile and politely retreat while internally cursing the bastard.
The Great Job Hunt has begun but I procrastinate by reading Metro in the studio while Foz moans to Georgina and me about application forms. The bin is full to the brim with rejects. I’m amazed I ever made it through the door.
Go to the Mall at 2 for first year thing. It is a another convenient excuse to go drinking later and we are all only happy make use of it. Athier confesses he is too nervous to speak to first years about his work and hopes we don’t have to. We roll our eyes. ‘MAness’ Athier, where is your ‘MAness’?
We are instructed to hang around near our work in the hope that an eager first year can ask us loads of insightful questions while we provide loads of insightful answers. We mostly stand around looking shifty. I collect postcards and ask people to leave messages.
Martyn writes: “The world is full of arses”
on the front of his card which also has “Martyn Shouler – Illustrator, Mercury Prize finalist, AOI Bronze Award winner” printed proudly on the back.
Simeon writes: “Laminate all work”
Amalia writes: “You are a fucking slut with big tits”
Mike writes: “We both have great colour. Well done!”
Onnalin writes: “I’m famous already xx”
Anna writes: “It’s been a pleasure working with you, You are mad” Across both her postcards.
Bruna writes: “I am full of beer and chicken”
Mexican Firecracker writes: “FG FG FG tiny angry woman” (she so loves her name)
Armed with the words of wisdom from my fellow classmates, a select group of drunks go to the pub, leaving the first years to tear apart our work with Foz. A couple join us later in Chandos and we grill them for what they said about us. Did you slate us? Who did you talk about? What about me? What about me? Who else? Is that it??
I’m very disappointed that they were all nice and shit instead of being bastards like we were last year. (Maybe talking to us beforehand didn’t help I suppose quietly threatening to break their legs when Foz’s back was turned might have made them nervous)
Foz says he too is disappointed at their politeness. He has a lot of work to do next year, breaking them in and all. Their fragile, sweet little minds will be completely corrupted by this time next year and they will thank him on bended knees for it.