How can a girl have sex with these pathetic teenage wrecks?
Football scarves, the girls drink halves & her brother's crying 'cos he has lost his decks.
Outside the air was cool, an older guy sitting in his car asked if Minnie needed a ride.
He thought he was still dangerous - paunchy, but dangerous -
on the night that Minnie Timperley died.
It's such a beautiful world, you're such a beautiful girl.
And he only did what he did 'cos you looked like one of his kids.
But Minnie, Minnie if I could I would give you the rest of my life.
- The Night that Minnie Timperly Died, Pulp


Day 5: I've had this song in my mind all day. So I shot this.

It has been a funny day. I worked again. I sold soap beautifully. I feel a bit funny that my biggest achievement for the day was selling a woman $100.65 of product. I'm not used to this.

I won at Creepy Customer Of The Day. He stuck his finger under his arm and then shoved said finger under my nose to make me smell his sweat. I still feel a bit sick when I think of it.

I came home and cooked. My housemate was working a 9pm to 8am shift at the brothel so I wanted to send her off full of food. I've been a bit slack lately and we've just been living off of salad.

When she had left I sat on the couch and felt a little lost. I ached from holding 20 minutes poses yesterday. I wondered why it was that I had avoided photographing my face all week. I resolved to photograph my face. I went in to the bathroom and shot this.

I resolved to photograph my face tomorrow.

I called myself a 'whiny bint'. It isn't actually that I don't enjoy selling things, it is just that I am not in rehearsal for any play right now and that drives me mad. A director with nothing to direct is one of the more useless people in existence. I had a simply day: 9-5 work, cook a meal and then collapsed, exhausted onto the couch. It is foolish that I feel so guilty about this.

I wasn't going to post this. I was going to just post the lyrics but I guess this is a part of an artist's week: self doubt... feeling useless and drained. It is scheduled in, somewhere between the copious amounts of meetings, dreamings, attempts to count and creating: 'doubt self. Doubt direction. Doubt your contribution to making the world a better place.' Well... I will allow myself this half a day of foolish self-pity on the proviso that tomorrow I write something beautiful. I have that duologue to still finish. Tomorrow I will make something.