Memo Log

On the bus to Bond Street for the casting of the Vidal Sassoon catwalk for the 28th. The guy said he’s got a customer at 1pm but will make him wait just for me. Shocking. So after leaving yesterday I went into EAT and noticed this guy smiling at me in the queue – we talked with his friend from Nepal. He’s a freelance opera singer currently doing method acting for Woody Allen’s new film (or something along those lines). They kept saying how refreshing I am to talk to and invited me out for Friday night. When I got home I was sick. Felt so bad. A called me. B called too – sounded sad and tired so we’re organising a party before I leave. A was saying how I’d text him right after he’d finished chanting a dedication prayer which was creepy. Then when checking his Facebook he’d put on his live feed about meeting me. He said he’ll see it all the way through. Loads of his ‘friends’ commented on it wishing him luck and they’re praying too. I think it’s insane. Absolutely insane. People all over the world are doing this and I feel guilty for it. It’s weird. Some kid at the bus stop looks like a mini 13 year old version of C; I like how everyone (men included) are all in love with him. A man sits next to me in the bus, laughing as he says to me: “I like to see where I’m going.” I’m sitting at the front – I like how he felt he had to justify why he wants to sit here.

Out from the hardcore testing at the Sassoon place. I’ve got 2 days of hair styling and they make me look freaky deak. Then gotta try to maintain some sense of dignity as I walk between the catwalk and, aided by male models, walk onto the turn table and spin around as if I’m on a podium. Comical. Comedy at its finest, evidently.

The first message I got today was by D saying he misses me. How long has it been since I’ve received anything like that from a boyfriend? Sweet Jesus.