Last sunday, Terrence Koh did some kind of art show in the middle of boom box, and out of nowhere my agent phoned me for the first time in ages. And so it was that I found my self on stage in one of London's most try-hard gay fashion clubs, in pants, nipples painted white, and with something that distinctly resembled a pair of tights on my head. I have to laugh. But only becuase I hate crying in public. See the white hands on the right? They were were stuffed full of insense sticks, which we had been instructed to light. Only some one had been skimping on the cash, because none of the fucking things would stay lit. Then every single one of our lighters broke. Then I can only assume that Terrence Koh though a tiz and refused to come on stage, becuase we were left to stand in front of a very confused, coked-up Boom box for what felt like four days.
However, there was a free tab there for all the models, so most of the more disturbing memories are a little hazy.
(I'm the short-arse on the left)
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