… I got invited to a “fabulous party” in the east end one night, by a special friend.
When I arrived, this Irish guy (can’t even remember his name) took me to the most horrible place in London. A kareoke pub. WOW.
I remember feeling ashamed just by watching these people singing, believing they were as good as Whitney Houston.
I went out and got chatted up by my special friend’s best friend, he was in the same situation as mine. A few days later I was posing naked for him in this crap dirty place near Kingston, for he was an artist and needed models.
I’d love to see the paintings. I don’t know how. I forgot his name too.