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2002-11-14 - 2:21 p.m.

So last night I�m sat in a coffee shop on the King�s Road, which is inhabited by some kind of weird strain of overpriveleged detritus, but that�s a good thing or they�d just be wandering about everywhere else � at least here they can be confined to one geographical area. In a telling episode, I�d earlier stopped outside a supermarket, and a certain double-barrelled ex-junky Celebrity Survivor contestant actually made the security guard hail, and then help load up, a taxi � like, way to respect that guy�s job, you braying, ego-sodden wretch.

I�m drinking hot chocolate with a 23 year old model, my passport into being able to sit in places like this without feeling like the compost-eating groundsman who�s just finished his shift licking out the gutters for Lady Snoot. Anyway, it�s just me, her and the Dictaphone. She�s fresh from a stint on some home shopping channel, where she was paid vast sums to lie back and receive facials on live TV for two hours, and not in the �arcing ropes of jism� sense. We�re not talking scenes from Glamorama here, though in a strange way, she is kind of the Kate M*ss of the medical equipment catalogue world. She�s been the face of haemophilia, diabetes, and if you need a look for showing off your new range of tracheotomy equipment, there�s no-one better. For simulating open neck surgery, she�s in a class of her own.

She drives a BMW and has already earned more money than I probably ever will (unless my pureed monkey gland import business takes off) � the world of commercial modelling (as opposed to high fashion) may be unglamorous but you still get whopping great piles of cash without the need to hang around with embarrassing old rock stars or cultivate a chronic heroin addiction. I suppose you could if you really wanted to, but the Johnny D*pp�s of this world aren�t going to be lavishing attention on you because they�ve seen your tracheotomy spread in Surgical Implements Monthly.

Don�t get me wrong. She�s a beautiful girl. But in a�how can I put it? Undemanding way. Grounded, without a whiff of attitude and, frankly, sensible � the rudest word I could bet her to say was �bum�. So good job I thought better of making my �arcing ropes of jism� comment. And it�s a pity because I saw SO ready to write a scathing piss-take, and now I�m forced to resort to�er�what�s that term? Oh yeah, �objective journalism�. Which totally takes the fun out of it.

Also, one of her portfolio shots has some serious camel toe action, but I politely avoided bringing it up during the interview.

In other news, the firemen are all on strike but luckily, it�s raining REALLY hard.

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