Ferly the Freedom, Sex, Food & Key Chain Fobs

Ferly the Freedom, Sex, Food & Key Chain Fobs

She had never stayed in a hotel by herself before. She’d dreamt of fine, elegant hotel rooms with beautiful views of far away cities, and even though she was just downtown in her own little city, she felt like she had traveled to another part of the world. She left her spare room key on the bar with the man she’d met that night. He had complimented her on her smile and her eyes and he had treated her like she was special, so she left her hotel room key fob on the bar, flashed him her “fantastic smile” and batted her “gorgeous eyes”, and walked slowly out of the hotel lounge without looking back. She ordered champagne and strawberries from room service, then filled the oversized tub and added a doubled dose of bubble bath before slipping into something more comfortable. She waited, postured on the bed wearing just her best negligee and her fantastic smile.

The phone rang and startled her. She awoke a little disoriented and scrambled for the phone. It was the 8:00 am wake-up call she’d asked for when she checked in. She sat listening to a recorded voice telling her that breakfast was served until 9:00 am, and check out was at 11:00 am as she looked around the room.  There were the expensive strawberries and champagne she couldn’t afford, here in the expensive hotel room she couldn’t afford. She hung up the phone and tried to keep herself together as she began gathering her things, but as soon as she saw herself in the bathroom mirror she lost it. Her lipstick and eye makeup had smeared around her face, creating two black eyes and half a clown mouth. She sat on the edge of the tub and burst into tears. She pushed up the drain plug switch and the water level immediately began to get lower. She reached for a washcloth and accidently dropped it in the now freezing cold, bubbless tub water. She retrieved it, wrong it out and put it over her face. The coolness felt good against her hot skin, so she cleaned herself up and went into the main room. Why the hell should this go to waste? She thought, as she stuffed strawberries into her face and the tears began to flow again. She drank champagne straight from the bottle, although cold, it was a bit flat. Still, it helped to wash the strawberries down and the tears stop flowing. A nice buzz from the champagne was enough motivation to get herself and her things together.

She looked herself again as she closed the door behind her and headed to the desk to checkout. Her modest dress made her nearly invisible but still she still made an effort to smile as she passed the other guests and staff, with her clean, make-up less face. Her mind wandered to thinking how many people steal from hotel rooms and if the staff would think her a better guest because she had stolen nothing and tidied her room before leaving. She waited in a long line of people who seemed extremely annoyed at being in a line. No one looked at each other, they just deep sighed, looked at their watches and deep sighed again. She was happy not to see mister “Wow, you have a fantastic smile, gee I could just look into your gorgeous eyes all night, but I don’t want to have sex with you”. She began to look at her watch and deep sigh.

When it was her turn at the desk, she explained that she had lost her other room key fob. The desk clerk waved one hand without looking up and said “oh that’s ok, someone turned it in”. She began to dig violently through her purse to find something, using it as a ruse to collect herself and fight back the tears. The desk clerk started tapping a pen on a clipboard to get her attention. Rude! She yelled at him, and he rolled his eyes at her. She signed the form and stormed out, telling herself that the clerk was lucky she didn’t ask to see a manager over his appalling behavior.

Now back home, the empty place with no husband, no kids, no pets and no warmth, she dropped her bag and her purse on the floor, kicked her shoes off so hard they hit the shelves in front of her and knocked over several photos she has been meaning to pack away. She stepped over the mess of broken glass and wondered into the kitchen to open a bottle of wine. Her champagne buzz had just about worn off and there was no one around to step in the glass or stop her from drinking a bottle of wine before noon.

Theme: Freedom, Sex, Food and Key Chain Fobs

Theme: Freedom, Sex, Food and Key Chain Fobs

Back in January I was looking through the themes for 2015, and this month’s theme: “Freedom, Sex, Food & Key Chain Fob,” had me puzzled. I thought that it was an English/American saying with a non-literal interpretation, but no. To be fair, English is not my native language although most of my day passes in English. I am using it to get by. I leave it to you native-English-speaking types to account how the sentence “Some people can’t stand sitting,” came to make sense. Anyway, I threw a 4-sided dice (yes, they exist) as to which keyword I should focus on, and this month we talk about food. I leave the freedom, sex and key chain fobs for the rest of my co-bloggers to cover. So in line with a zine I went out and challenged myself to make some food. I am now a man that has made his own tomato sauce. And it was easy! Do not let anyone else tell you otherwise. It is easy.

You take 1 kg. of tomatoes. As to which type of tomato, I do not care. Ain’t nobody got time for that, and several gastro-scientists on the web have already posted deep analysis of which tomatoes to work with. They did the research and I ignored it. Which type of tomato should you use? The red ones. Simple as that. 1 kg of fresh red tomatoes. Anything else, I will not be responsible for the outcome. You take the tomatoes and wash them for dirt and whatever else they are crawling in from the market. And without any further processing you throw them in a pot with water and put them to a boil. Any boil. After 2-5 minutes in the boiling water, the skin of the tomatoes will crack. When cracked, pull them out of the boiling water. Might want to use a strainer. Put the cracked-skin tomatoes into a some cold/ice water to cool them off. Once sufficiently cooled off, you take each tomato and peel the skin off. I did this on 1 kg. of tomatoes in 5 minutes. It is easy. Messy, but easy. Remember to talk the center stalk-bit out as well. Ain’t nobody wanna eat that. Use a knife. When should be left is just below 1 kg. of red lumps.

When you want to add to your tomato sauce does not matter. I used 1 red bell pepper and 1 red onion, sauteed with paprika. You do you, and it will be fine. I recommend at least adding the onion. Red bell pepper, garlic, cauliflower, beef stew, strawberry pudding, loafers or babies is all up to you. No turmeric though. Never turmeric. You may use curry if you want to, but no pure turmeric. This shit is not going to get commercial red as it stands, no need to add lying treacherous yellow colouring to the mix. Once you have your ingredients and your peeled tomatoes ready to go, we do things the Irish way: Put it in a pot and boil it until you can eat it using a straw. The second messy part of the job is crushing the peeled tomatoes. I did so by hand because my paprika sauteed onion and red pepper motivated me to proceed macho-man style. You may use a blender or a food processor if your fancy ass kitchen has one of those, but I do not. Put a peeled tomato into your hand, put your hand into a pot and crush ever so gently. Once all the tomatoes have become a red lumpy mush in a pot you squeeze the lumps, too. Until everything is a red liquid-ish mass. If you have done some research into the best kind of tomatoes to use, you may have a lot of liquid in the pot now, or not so much. Does not matter much though. You add all the other ingredients, 1 tsp. of oregano and 1 tsp. of thyme and put it to a boil. And after seasoning your tomato sauce extra carefully, you may punch a wall to gain +3 manliness buff to counter the “growing vagina”-debuff you will be sprouting at this point.

You boil this liquid mass until so much water has been reduced that you are happy with the consistency. Depending on your choice of tomatoes and added ingredients this likely takes between 30 minutes and three hours.

Now, what I got out of it after using a camping handheld blender to remove excess lumps and reach my favoured consistency: a few small lumps in a homogenous sauce, I ended up with about a half liter of tomato sauce.

You may want to sweeten the sauce to your liking using sugar or artificial sweetener if you are so inclined, or diabetes is ailing you. If you do not prefer it sweet, you may opt out of this. Taste and spice, that is the key here. Some salt and pepper should be added at some point in the mix, preferably while the sauce is boiling, but you can do so subsequently, if you want. This is not set in stone. None of it is. You boil tomatoes with ingredients. It is not rocket science. It is cooking. No need to make things harder than they are.

The sauce was not as red as the store-bought tomato sauce. But in terms of taste, I have never had better, and I have been to Italy and I have had authentic home-made Italian tomato sauce before. It trumps the store-bought tomato sauce by miles in terms of taste and you get to control what is in it. No artificial colours or preservatives. No added chemicals. You know what is in it. And it tastes much much better. In terms of price, I paid 12-13$ for the ingredients and seeing as I can get half a liter of store-bought tomato sauce for 0.99$…

There is an old saying, you should never cross a river to get water. This does depend if it is a particularly nice trip, or the water at the end is much cleaner and tastes better than the water from the river. If you know what I mean. 😉

GP by GP – Freedom, Sex, Food & Key Chain Fobs

GP by GP – Freedom, Sex, Food & Key Chain Fobs

I have stepped out of the ship Buzz, almost on my own accord. It is the only fucking freedom I have left on this ridiculous trip. I am going to choke you Buzz, there is nothing else to do to you. I hate you and your stupid face, I am sorry that it will end like that, but choking you will be the only highlight on this arduous trip. You could have sent anyone else from the ship, but choosing me due to my attitude will not improve the end result noticeably.

What? I won’t keep it down out here, the smell is coming in through the suit and yelling at you is my only entertainment as I waddle. By the way Buzz, while I have you on the intercom can you tell me why I am walking in condoms and keys? THIS IS FUCKING DISGUSTING, I know you say that the suit is sealed, but I CAN SMELL SOMETHING DISGUSTING!

I am coming back in, I stepped in something and I have a formerly mentioned business I need to execute, pun very much intended BUZZ!

What do you mean that we have work to do out here? We don’t have anything to do here! It is working on its own, we are just been sent out here to watch mold grow or paint dry. This is fucking useless you piece… yeah, yeah… tone. Always with the tone. Sure let us have a reasonable conversation when it is you standing in 288 million metric ton of waste scattered over the eastern hemisphere of this FUCKING RETARDED MOON YOU PIECE OF SHIT!


Yes I will tone it down or misses log-rider will eventually start crying again. DO I HAVE TO MENTION WHERE I AM AGAIN? I do not care that I am cruel or misogynistic? WHAT? I have nothing against Jennifer nor her excessive crying for the last three weeks of this toilet voyage. I don’t hate women, I hate you ALL that is misanthropist you dumb-assed MOFO!

THEN COME OUT HERE AND JOIN ME IN SANDWICH JUNCTION BUZZ, I will make you a sandwich bitch! I will shove that disgusting piece of minced pig an arms-length into your large intestine, which I just stepped in. I will choke you with a keychain of smiling kittens here where I stand and dance on your soon to be poor contribution to this exclusive project of ruining a dwarf-planet faster than we ruin Earth One. I am happy to be a part of this wonderful race against time, KNEE DEEP IN FUCKING CRAP! BUZZ I NEED YOU OUT HERE, COME AND PLAY WITH ME AND THE KITTEN KEYCHAINS! THEY EVEN HAVE HAPPY BIRTHDAY WRITTEN ON THEM!

Blow it out your ass Buzz, you are wasting more air existing in there then I am out here yelling, prick. What is it you want me to do Buzz? What is that all important project or pathetic proportions you were dribbling about yesterday? Paleontology, pathetic, it is all the same dumb-ass.

Do you want me to go dig? Are you sure that you don’t want me to spelunk in the mountain of tossed furniture by sandwich junction? Or swim in that small lake of frozen liquid I am guessing has come from soda cans?

It is minus four hundred Fahrenheit right now Buzz, nothing is liquid, wait a few hours Callisto will pass the backside of Jupiter and you can go swim in “soon to be branded as the next best thing since cigarettes” lake. Take the family to a wonderful trip to Callisto, look at the sights of shit, waste and frozen crap neatly piled together with food, key chains and posters from the nineteen seventies!

We are not going to find anything Buzz. What the hell are you hoping to find in this environment. There is no signs of life out here. You can’t drop a dead cat into a pool of blood and hope it lives because you have most of the ingredients you need dumb-ass. Bacteria? Sure, let go to space and create new diseases we can’t contain or find the cure for. We haven’t still removed AIDS yet and you want to make space bacteria that will find new and creative ways to kill off humanity… you know what? Come out here Buzz, I have a job for your immune system. You don’t need a coat, the weather is great… dumb-ass.

So you want to throw fine words around like a scholar? Scholar my ass… I am perturbed by you, a malefactor if I ever knew one. Are you sure you aren’t a son of a corrupted scrapheap owner and are just in over your league?

So is your mom Buzz! I can say what I want since I lost interest in this project long ago. Yeah, yeah stop whining you dick, I will find your precious planet wiping bacteria so we can make sure that especially you won’t reproduce anymore.

Fucking hell, this is even more disgusting than kissing a dead grandmother on the mouth after she has been dug back up to make sure she was entirely dead after you ran her face over with a lawnmower thrice! The amount of semen from these condoms have made the entire place strangely paler than the rest. I know it has something to do with salt, but still… this is… nope… just nope.

I am out Buzz, go do this searching yourself, I can’t. I don’t want to look at it. Two hundred years of waste, it is a landscape of my nightmares Buzz and you sound like you have found El Dorado. It is junk and things that ought to have biodegraded hundreds of years ago.

I don’t know where to look Buzz, neither do you. Go find something you can show back home. I hate you, I hate everyone on this ship and I especially hate you Buzz, if you didn’t get it the first ten times? I found some rope here and I am going to hang out over by the mountain of furniture. Come see me if you want, I will be the one with a smile on the face. It should be easy to find me.

No I am not coming back to the ship, go fuck yourself, preferably outside without a suit you dipshit. You have been my bane for two years now and I have so many promises not to choke you because you are the only one who can land that elongated waste bin. They are landing in water when they get home so you are even more useless than I am Buzz. Leader or not you can shove this mission so far up your ass,that it can suck the nutrients from the sandwich I want to shove down your throat.

I know that I am low on everything from air to patience, but you don’t get it Buzz…

I know there is not enough gravity for it Buzz, but that won’t stop an entrepreneur with a passion. Isn’t that your catch phrase? See you all! …and especially you Buzz, I look forward to ride your face like a toboggan straight down the highway to hell!


GP by GP – My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

GP by GP – My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

From:                 Alice Johnston (aljo@erbf.gov)

Subject:            The last 24 Hours?

Date:                  June 5th, 2003


I am writing this mail on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit!

Just so there is no misunderstanding during my explanation to this obscure and completely unethical process you are running for the women and… other… in labor here. I am aware that we are new in this complex and ignoring the complete lack of even the most basic tools for childbirth, we are unable to accept the procedures performed on the women during labor.

There tend to be asked less questions when the pay of employment is as high as you have promised us, but after three weeks we are fearing for our own health and the general wellbeing of anyone in this complex.

The last Twenty-four hours have been a strain on my nerves. I have talked with the three other midwifes I could find and we are leaving on the bus towards Vorkuta as soon as possible. There is no reason to try to contact us. We have agreed to honor the silence agreement in our contracts, but under these circumstances. If any of us is contacted by your organization or suddenly missing for no apparent reason, we will contact a coordinated variety of news agencies and authorities.

The reasons for my personal resignation starts yesterday morning at 6am where subject #6334 Anosova, Pasha had alarmed the staff of sudden abdominal pains. Being called to the operating room for what was supposed to be a birth, turned into another nightmarish experience that were getting to even your senior staff’s nerves. To keep a comical distance to the event, so not to vomit on the paper, I placed the luminescent puzzle in lead container SWU-0225 and sent it off to the basement.

I do not understand your staffs native language, but I can hear fear and concern in any voice and they were terrified. We have not had a normal birth in the three weeks I have worked here and maybe longer if I am guessing right from their rapid gossip as we left the screaming patient to the doctors.

Ushering us from the room in that manner has also been a reason for my decision and yet not the drop in itself although such rude behavior anywhere else would have made me complain to my superiors and the union.

Second issue at 9:42am I was called to block seven to retrieve a newborn child that “accidentally” fell out of a woman who hung herself in her gown. Everyone seemed surprised that she could manage to even stand in her condition and it was getting crazier since she had managed to raise her bed to get a point high enough to hang from. It took half an hour for a army of screwdrivers to arrive. Never seen so many beds being screwed to the ground and/or wall, the noise was unbearable.

Child was placed in incubation and although the level of tumors on his deformed body was enough to make me want to throw him at the wall, he survived for six hours before his internal organs had melted or rotted away. I have not seen the autopsy in the light of me wanting to eat again tomorrow.

I have seen many reasons for experimenting with augmented births to enhance our future generations, but this is creeping me out, even the daily gun shots from the various blocks are making me paranoid after three weeks. They never allow us to see who or what is being shot and I have run around to my fellow midwifes to be sure that they are not the ones being exterminated for resisting assistance.

We were called out of our delayed lunch at 1:55pm as someone had run rampant with a sharp object and several people had been found stabbed in the mouth or throat several times. Everyone was patted down and we must assume at even this point, the perpetrator is still at large. It has only been doctors and subjects that has been stabbed at the point of this letter, but we were escorted around on packs the rest of the day yesterday and this morning too.

There has been no pattern in the assaults and we fear for our lives in that manner. Even if we have a guard, we can still be stabbed before he stops the psychotic killer haunting the place.

Besides that little, microscopically unimportant bit of mundane news we still had 4:03pm. I will not describe the tension it made. I still shiver at this point. How… how could you? I never knew the extend of this complex, but what you had hidden in block 8 is too much. I know we are not allowed out there, but what Belinda described before she passed out for the second time was for my imagination, too livid.

How can you have a nine-hundred pound woman sit in her own waste, experiencing what I must imagine, mental and physical torment as she goes through a continues cycle of organ birth as her body fails to keep the amniotic sac intact during her “assembly line labor?”

I have not even seen the woman you bastards and I can’t control my tears, or the cold sweat anymore. We are terrified beyond belief here and you have not even been to see us even once since our arrival. I am unable to sleep and I have been awake for over 50 hours at this point. My mind is slowly melting like the hundreds of children your failed experiments are causing.



It has been three hours now… I think I am able to write the last couple of notes for you here. I can’t breathe properly and I am feeling dizzy, although it might be the bus ride back. I apologize for the spelling if you can’t read it, but he drives like his blood alcohol level is under five point two for the first time in a decade and he forgot his bottle.

Marybeth confirms that 6.31pm was flush hour. The trolleys were taken out again we helped merging block two, three, five and seven so block seven were empty and ready for cleaning. I did not keep track of the time beyond that and has to rely on my colleagues.

Note for future improvements in your death fortress, even though your cleaver little black curtain is placed to ward off prying eyes, it does in no way mute the screaming people your having gagged and dragged. We know that these women are sedated and probably didn’t volunteered to get their wombs pumped full of the Greek alphabet, so you might have to reconsider you business strategy if you want to keep toying with life.

But in your mind you might have to crack a few neutrons to make an omelet, so I won’t degrade your noble work, by questioning the ethics of genocide by prolonged and systematic torture.

Back to our little funhouse. Marybeth informs me that it was 8.11pm we came to find the lone wanderer. We have been informed by the staff in what they might call English, that they had a young woman at the place that was impossible to restrain. They said she was a contortionist and it was one of the reasons they kept finding her roaming the dark corridors each evening. We brought her back to her room and locked her door. She was giving off a small humming or dry laughs all the way back and kept staring at us with those dead eyes from the small window in the door, until we were out of the corridor. Marybeth and Julie found her an hour later in the basement, poking around the supply room. Marybeth says that Julie took her back to the room. None of us four, has not seen Julie since. We have left a note for her in her locker, but even we doubt that it will be English eyes reading that letter if it is ever read again.

At 11:37pm I was called from the staff room, according to Belinda. A woman had either been cut open or cut her own stomach up to get rid of the overgrown child inside her contorted stomach. We had been discussing for days how many children she would deliver, but we could not confirm anything with ultrasound equipment since the cord from the machine in the hospital in Vorkuta, couldn’t reach that far. But with a facility in a price range like this, you might have considered a 214 mile extension cord, but who am I to judge.

The humongous child is an abomination if you would even call it that. The charts says that it was a case of prenatal elephantiasis, yet it was the first child that had not either come out “some assembly required” or melted within the first hour.

What I learned this morning was that it was still breathing apart from the minor wounds it had been experiencing during its abrupt birth. For some blatantly obvious reasons, the mother did not survive the procedure long enough to get a bullet in her head as her usage had ended… somehow I feel sorry for the executioner. He had finally gotten off the crutches after shooting a toe off two days after I started.

I guess he was your preferred or main executioner, since he was trigger happy enough to shoot while the gun was holstered and pointing down at his feet. Likewise he is the only one here who looks truly like “paid work” in his face. He terrifies me. No questions. No moral obligations or afterthought. Paid work… that is all…

Once more I have drifted off into the wonderful place that I call, “anywhere else but here!” yet I have to return to point out that shortly after midnight we were locked inside the staff room together with some of the night nurses and two doctors. Apparently the killer was on the loose again. There was sounds of shots and yells all night and we were reluctantly let out this morning at 7am with the notice that we needed a guard if we as much as needed to take a shit.

Now guess who stood at the bus stop and waved goodbye to us as we got on the bus to Vorkuta. Have a wonderful time sending the lone wanderer back to her room by yourself. She is freezing, but there is no blood on her hands or feet…


Alice Johnston

Midwife, ERB Frontier





Kevin Douglas, (douger@gpost.com)             August 20th, 2003

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit! …





Janice Bloombauer, (jbb@news.now)           September 8th, 2003

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit! …





James Smith, (js73@uss.gov)                             December 2nd, 2003

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit! …





Vladimir Anosov, (vlano@ksp.ru)                    January 19th, 2004

I am writing this letter on behalf of the Midwife staff and myself. We quit! …





Fong Yun, (xuei82@ttfn.cn)  January 25th, 2004

Woman missing: 35 year old, American, Last seen August 19th 2003, After prolonged treatment of radio…





Billy Hayes, (Hunterdkhunterhunterdkdkhunterdkdkdk@lol.com)   March 1st, 2004

Old laptop for sale, slightly used. Need a bit of cleaning. Glows in the dark…




Ferly the My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

Ferly the My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

So, Miss Johnston, can you…

You can call me Alice.

Ok, Alice. Can you tell me about your day today? It’s important that you be as honest as possible.

Sure, I’ll do my best…

I hate having to get up in the morning, but I did it anyway. I don’t like having to put on makeup and do my hair, but I did it anyway. I drove in angry traffic full off idiots trying to “get there faster” by driving like assholes, so I could arrive at my office where I hate everyone and everyone hates me. I sat at my desk all day doing my tedious job that makes my brain feel numb, then I ate lunch at my desk. A lunch that would have been better suited to a rabbit, because I’m fat and I want everyone to think I’m trying to do something about it. Anyways, I washed it down with the same coffee that’s been in the pot since this morning because no one made any fresh. They just drank all the coffee and thought “screw stupid fat Alice, she deserves the burnt crap in the bottom of the pot”. You know, I’ll be damned if I’m going to be the one to make the coffee every day for the whole office!

So you didn’t make any coffee today?


Sorry, please continue.

Ok, so I finished out the work day and made my way to my car through an office of people who hate me and think I’m fat. Then I got in my car, I repressed the urge to scream, and I drove home in shitting angry traffic full off idiots trying to “get home faster” by driving like assholes, so I can I arrive at an apartment with no one to greet me. I put my “lean cuisine” in the microwave and took off my clothes in the kitchen while I watch my dinner cook. Then sat naked on the kitchen floor with my secret snack drawer open and shoved cakes, candies and cookies in my face until I heard the ding of the microwave. Then I clean up the wrappers from my little binge and went to the bedroom to put on some pajamas. I sat on the bed and watch TV. Mostly just bad sitcoms and reality shows until the evening news came on. The news makes me feel hopeless and angry so I don’t watch it. I turned the TV off and went and got my cold dinner from the microwave and ate it standing over the kitchen sink, before I went to to stare at myself in the bathroom mirror for a few minutes. I cried, I brush my teeth, I washed my face and I went to bed.

I really should get a cat.



Just one more question, and please be honest.


Did you make the coffee yesterday?


Yes, the coffee in the break room. Did you make it? I noticed you said you didn’t make it.


Miss Johnston, Alice, please stop giggling and answer the question. Did you make the coffee today?

Yes, yes I made it.

Can you tell me what you put in it?

In it?

Yes, Alice, what did you put in the coffee? Alice, please stop laughing.

Theme: My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

Theme: My Name is Alice Johnston, This is a Day in My Life

My name is Alice Johnston and I’m the headline top model of the Copenhagen Fashion Week. This is a day in my life.

06:12: Today starts early with a nourishing vitamin water (only 0.3% fat) and broccoli vapors. Then I practice my facial expressions in the mirror: angry, moody, wronged, grumpy, unimpressed, apathetic and my favourite: Kristen Stewart.

08:30: Snack consisting of two pieces of gum (I sin as I’ve brought the sugary kind from home) and more water. It’s important to get energized for the long trip down the catwalk.

08:43: Just before going on the catwalk, security evicts one of the girls by mistake. The designer is angry. Can’t these people tell the difference between homeless and hipster? Geez.

10:25: Talk with the lady who hired me for the show this afternoon. Unfortunately, she’s unable to pay me cash, but she can promise with at least two glances from Donatella Versace. She is, of course, in Paris, but it is still better than last year, when I was paid in discarded knitted shirts by Paula Nancy Millstone Jennings from Sussex – all of size small – all too big for me.

13:15: I recuperate with a slice of pineapple from a tray with fruits presented by one of the designers. Kinda irresponsible considering how many calories are in it. I still manage to get into a pair of latex leggings, size 8-years-old.

13:27: Another designer leaves the show in anger. His model had forgotten to smile to the camera. She had forgotten her line: “Cheese.”

14:44: After a full hour with the make-up artist, giving me the Africa-meets-backwater look, I am getting dressed in the so-called “Third World dress”, consisting of over a million strands of hair from Indian children, gold-woven silk and a very long train depicting Aung San Suu Kyi. No high heels, so that’s a relief.

14:59: Just before going on stage the manager comes back-stage and complains that the toilets are constantly occupied and staff has to cross the street. Also that the sound of vomiting is disturbing to some of the audience.

16:53: Finally I get a break and sit down with the Financial Times that I hide in a Vogue-magazine to avoid snide remarks. Yesterday I told one of the other girls that I do my own taxes, and she was so shocked she accidentally ate a slice of white bread.

17:57: I come across yet another angry comment about the Fashion Week’s sick beauty ideals from some lardy lump, weighing at least 105 pounds. I don’t understand all the commotion: If you’re happy with your fat, flabby, stout and dwarf-like body, why do you even care?