After four nights in a row of under 4 hours of sleep (attributable first to the most paralysing jet lag to ever hit me with a sledgehammer, and second, back to back 13 hour shoots), this is how I was hoping my Easter long weekend would shape up. Instead, I’m editing an exhibition, two campaigns, six editorials and seven briefs (coincidentally also wearing briefs) on my kitchen floor. I’d migrated from my desk in the hopes that green tea would recover me from the throes of fatigue, then decided I was too tired to drag me and all my external hard drives back through the house, so assumed Asian-squat and am still here three hours later wondering whether my near-empty fuel tank will get me to the office in time for a sexy Friday night busting pixels and prose, or whether I should just avoid leaving the house altogether.
This is how my long weekend was supposed to look.
Perfectly tousled and illuminated, red-lipped, wetsuited and goggled up in search of the Clovelly Beach Blue Groper 2.0. Like a retired Bond girl who can’t quite bring herself to hang up her heels. Like the sweetest Brit that ever was: Ms Alex Moxham, heating up Clovelly’s concrete lines with no sign of an English lobster sunburn, nor zinc-ed up extremities – just a growing crowd of Surf Life Savers and obvious shoe enthusiasts watching her work her way around killer swimsuits and block heels during our SENSO SS16 campaign shoot.
That’s the best thing about Clovelly Beach, second only to our resident Blue Groper. You don’t have to fly to Miami to wear heels on the beach. There’s your hook, Tourism Australia.
And on that, I’ve just remembered that there’s a pile of Ferrero Easter Eggs at the office, not being eaten right now.
Excuse me while I go and fuel up to spend a sexy Friday night in.
Busting pixels and prose.