The last two chapters jump around in time a bit but there you go, such is memory.
I still had no idea what to do with my life when I returned from Europe. My friends from the 'Captain Midnight' production were at film school or art school. My proper jobs to date had been: a Saturday morning job during high school in a high street lingerie shop - before Victoria's Secret, don't get excited, I was selling comfy cotton sleeping shifts. Later my boyfriend got me a job working for a photography business, cleaning slides with toxic fluids. Back from Europe, my actor friends mentioned a casting agent. I got a commercial for a used car commercial. Yup. The director of the commercial was nice, an articulate man and not a mysogynist. Sorry to be so blunt about it but in Old Brisbane there was a lot of it about. Old Brisbane was a pretty scary place for females and people who didn't like football and beer. Even a decade later I saw a man in a florist shop - ah Brisbane has changed, I sighed to myself only to watch him ask , in hushed tones and a gesture for the bouquet to be fully encased in brown paper, as if it were a leg of ham.
Bill, the commercials director spoke to me over a sandwich lunch on seating inside the used car dealership. We sat and spoke about Europe. He'd hated it but at least spoke about it . A rare thing. Normally just mentioning the continent would dry the conversation up. People perhaps felt defensive or felt you (I) were being arrogant. Or both.
Through my art school friends I drifted into artists modeling. A privilege to sit immobile and be with your thoughts for half-hours at a time. One student had been to my high school - a year or two below me. I'd spot him in the playground. He was beautiful and charismatic. Now he behaved with anarchy - painting in bold slathers over the sketches he was abandoning. He became a painter of witty, intriguing, colourful and distinctive works that fetched high prices. I don't think he ever liked me specially but I have him to thank for me getting my first proper job.
There have been a few key moments in my life that seemed quite accidental but which had huge impact: English teacher David Sutton handing me a brochure. Gary Carsley pointing me to a job I didn't even know existed. Pauline Walsh meeting me by chance on the Kings Road and leading me to a whole career path. More about that later.
Gary said: there's a job going with that commercials director you did the advert with. I hadn't remembered even mentioning that to him. For a copywriter. I had no idea at all what that was. I went for an interview and was lucky enough to be taken on. I had a tiny offfice. I pored over the advertising awards books and was amazed by the screenings of British cinema and television commercials. The wit, the photography. For two and a half years I wrote commercials and I also provided free recording talent from time to time. And I got to direct a few commercials. Mostly starring inanimate objects such as shoes. But a couple with real people in them. I also got to experience Christmas parties with the receptionist being required to sit on the leading partner's knee. A board room with a pool table complete with a decoration of a woman's breast mounted on a small wooden plaque like an antelope's head. It has a bell in it and they would ring it when they won a round or pot the black or whatever marks a triumph on a game of billiards. Parties where the main voice talent of the day would fill a pint glass with ashtray contents and drink it for possibly money but I think just for the hell of it. Endless sexist racist and homophobic jokes in the office. My direct boss was an island of civilisation and calm. It was his partner to whom all these behaviours were I guess seen as essential to good Client relationships or simply droit de siegneur. He used to call his secretary, a welsh woman named Susan, 'Chop'. Sue, Suey, Chop Suey. Chop. My name is Susan she would say to no avail.
But in the evenings the antidote. I cultivated my bohemian life. Vintage clothing, mattress on the floor. La Boite.
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