Just as I am explaining to the modelling agency who have given me a days notice that there is no way I can get Lucy to Hammersmith as much as it sounds great (ahem...) the woman on the other end of the phone turns. Like milk gone off she curdles and I can hear her turn a shade of puce...
"WHERE DO YOU LIVE?! (shouldn't she know this?)...you do realise that these assignments are all in London?"
"Yes thanks...the last two were easy enough to get to but I don't know how I can get an 8 month old on the tube from Liverpool St to Hammersmith without recreating the tunnels to allow for ample lifts and extra toilets." 30 seconds goes by with heavy breathing and no helpful reply (like - I see your point, we will send a limo).
"Right then!" the shockingly rude bitch says "I will take her off our books!"
" Please do. For the 2p an hour she gets she would do better as a Chinese factory worker..."
I didn't actually say that last line but HONESTLY. I was totally shocked by how rude the booker had been. She had obviously had a bad day convincing mums to travel to Hammersmith. And before caling me she must have had a look in the mirror...
...before it slapped her.
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