CITY OF PRETTY On top of London

Back in London and I feel all 929 kms of distance gaping between me and the carefree that I left behind in Berlin. It’s right back to the daily grind of the big smoke – castings, grey skies and grumpy people – like I never departed. I arrived with the resolution that London will work for me this time round and I must take heed not to get ahead of myself with this habitual pessimism.

There is a climax to my week. On Sunday eve, I am to explore London’s most inaccessible phallus. This towering innuendo is the most celebrated, bold and statuesque in the whole of the town, erected skyward like the finger of god. I am of course talking about London’s award-winning architectural monument – the Gherkin. Sir Norman Foster must have been overcompensating for something (in)substantial when designing such a masterfully cocksure building. It is revolutionary in that it utilises energy saving methods that enable it to use only half the power a building that size would usually consume through its considered construction. The Gherkin houses the headquarters of the global insurance company Swiss Re and is notoriously difficult to access for anyone not employed or invited by the company. I am of course completely oblivious to all of this, and when I tell my architect housemates that I am shooting there this evening, I am ignored for the rest of the day.

The job is for Johnnie Walker’s latest 18-year-old release. A luxurious drop indeed, tended to by three male and two female models and a production crew of 50 at the top of the most spectacular and security tight building in London. Not to outshine the liquid gold, we are to be unrecognisably blurred out in the background in the final shot. This is an effective way of accommodating a budget as slender as some of the models it remunerates, though judging by the crystal palace location and lavish catering, it’s not hard to tell where priorities actually lie. We are recruited at six pm, but only start shooting at ten. In the mean time I get to know my fellow cast members. There is Charlotte, a petite but feisty model gone reality TV star with an intimidatingly quick sense of humour and the face of an angel. Lethal combo. The Peruvian stud with chiseled features is slightly cringe-worthy as he attempts over and over to rejuvenate Charlotte’s bygone jokes long past their expiry date. The model from Brighton who’s gone from farming potatoes to the glitz of Milan catwalks has an obsession for oversized nipples. His conversation starter is guessing my size and I avoid him for the remainder of the shoot. Then there is the very established model, Julian, who has written a handbook on how to be a model citizen.  Given my recent flat-line confidence in this job, he is the perfect person to meet as he gives me a spontaneous lecture from how to shed those unwanted inches due too much strudel in Germany, to aligning my look, book and attitude to maximise my business potential. Yes, my body is the business.

As the clock shifts past midnight we are sneaking sips of 18 year old under the table to get us to 3am and I’ve given up rolling my eyes at the bizarre things coming out of  the Peruvian’s mouth. I am too tired for politeness. On my way out, I sneak three pieces of blueberry past stringent security. Tomorrow is the first day of the rest of my life. Which will be fuelled with protein shakes prescribed by Julian. I need to take these liberties while I still can…