Wednesday, February 06, 2008
People aren't rude to me that often, perhaps because mostly I write about lovely things happening to people and how lovely they are. Or perhaps because well, I don't live the most challenging of lives. That isn't to say it doesn't have it's tricky moments but rarely someone takes the time to be unpleasant. Yesterday was an exception.
I had been given an assignment to go life drawing and write about it.
I often go on adventures for a paper and then record what happened. Every piece so far has been a glowing review of the activity and has noticed a significant upturn in business after it has been covered. I say this so you can understand that me writing about something is a good thing. I've even covered, somewhat sensitive groups who are very protective about their privacy and they were happy with the result.
Last night I appeared at the art drawing place in Islington with a photographer and was treated like a criminal. I had arranged with the person giving the class to go and we had even got permission from the model to be featured, but the owner of the building or at least some berk in charge was having none of it.
He was of the opinion that I was going to write some sort of sleazy, lad-mag account of life drawing. Nothing I, or the photographer could say would change his opinion so we left. The chap said I could I do the course but I had to pay and I couldn't take any photos, but if someone has been that unpleasant to me I'm not going to give him the free publicity.